Iris
by Gravism
Summary: "How bold your insinuation, peasant. It is not my blood." He closes the distance. "It never is." Mitsunari x OC
1. Arrogance

I claim no ownership of Sengoku Basara franchise. This work of fiction is created solely to entertain. Original characters are manifestations of my imagination . Please don't sue.

First time writing fanfiction. I appreciate any offers of constructive criticism. I look forward to your assistance.

Thanks!

Story follows plot of Sengoku Basara: Last Party; and events status post Battle at Sekigahara. I believe the term is 'post- canonical'.

_What would Hideyoshi-sama do?_

Three days of constant battle to quell the uprising of disgruntled factions in Chogoku had left Ishida Mitsunari's cavalry exhausted. The victory he expected did not come as easily or swiftly as he had hoped. Indeed, his enemy had dragged on the scuffle by defending the once prosperous Chogoku city through guerilla warfare. Even when cornered to the last traitor, the enemy would trigger explosives to take his attackers with him down to hell.

Mitsunair grimaces at the number of men lost during so short a campaign and, despite eagerness to return to camp, is not oblivious to the impending burnout harbored in his men's eyes and their horses' stride. He clenches the reins at the probability of his men weathering the ride home, while silently contemplates the teachings of his deceased Lord to remedy the current predicament.

His attention wavers when galloping of a scout reaches his ears.

"General, the village leader agrees to lend their aid."

"How wise of them", the white-haired general reins his steed eastward, "refusal was not an option."

_Hideyoshi-sama would do that. I'm sure of it._

The first thing Ran noticed about the Western army general was his pale skin and white hair. Complete in blood-splattered armor, a strange, white overcoat in the backdrop of a cloudy sky, and he seemed every bit the image of a menacing ghost.

She tore her gaze away to treat her current patient, a man with a nasty forearm laceration. Yes, a man. Not a soldier.

The village elders had warned her about treating soldiers; dogs of war who would bite the very hand that fed them. Yet with weaponry laid aside, she couldn't help but see them as injured men bemoaning their aches and pains. Slender fingers deftly tie ends of wrapped bandages as her eyes travel back to the young general who was tying his horse to a post. So maybe by that logic, this wraith-like general was too, just an injured man.

"General Ishida."

It was so soft he'd barely heard it above the village clamor and groveling of his men. He turns to face the owner of the voice only to meet a pair of brown, almond-shaped eyes. There was a softness- a weakness, to her eyes that he finds immediately not to his liking.

"Nani?" he intones, o-dachi in hand.

The female, roughly his age, pauses, as if stunned by the gauntness of his features and austerity of his grey eyes rather than blunt words. Matter did not improve if same said man held a weapon that was without a doubt longer than his arm. But it wouldn't do to embarrass herself and make a mockery of her trade by being a speechless idiot.

"I am the village's doctor, Ran," she introduces with a bow, "There seems to be blood on your armor, perhaps with your permission I could tend to your-"

The clatter of his sword inside the sheath.

"How bold your insinuation, peasant. It is not my blood." He closes the distance between them and glares at her, a feat possible given small disparities in their height.

That irritating smile, he will wipe it off her face.

"It never is."

Her lips thin to a rigid line, but her eyes never break from his sharp glower. Such arrogance eludes her, but the transgression he imposed, she understands, and it would be unwise to overlook it.

"I ask for your forgiveness, general. Word of your military prowess and valor has not yet reached us here. There will be no next time."

Her words were no guarantee. He could still remedy her existence from the earth with a simple hand gesture, never mind his weapon at hand.

Surprisingly, he turns away to tend to his horse. "Be gone."

Ran excuses herself with a small bow, more out of propriety than respect. Fingers fisted into knots.

A man indeed! The most arrogant and rude one she's ever met!

She busies herself with another wounded soldier, half trying to forget her ill-received act of kindness and half hoping the general be kicked by his steed.

By the end of the day, almost all the soldiers had been evaluated and treated for their injuries. Dinner was a gracious serving of rice, replete with fish and pickled radishes against the warm, amber skies. Ran and a few other villagers were handing out blankets to combat the evening cold when the incident occurred. One of the division leaders of Mitsunari's army, grown restless and irritable, had taken upon himself to accuse a female villager of misplacing his weaponry.

"If you can't find it, then you'd better pay for it!" the soldier demanded, kicking away buckets in his path. Watching from the sidelines, Ran's fingers brushes against folds of her yukata where her mother's omamori lies ensconced.

Rank silences the division leader's subordinates. No soldier needs or wants to be told his place, and the consequences are often devastating. Villagers are either behind windows or busying themselves with mindless tasks, but they keep a watchful eye, an open ear and a prayer in their hearts for the antagonism to pass. Such was the fate of the weak in the face of the strong.

"But I've never seen the sword," the young woman cried, pleading on her knees. She'd never be able to pay for a bokken, let alone a steel-forged one.

The soldier stalked over brandishing his fist and Ran could watch no longer.

"Sir, perhaps your sword is on your horse," Ran suggests, stepping in between the two parties, "shall I go see for you?"

"It isn't there. I've checked," he insists otherwise. "Your friend claims she cannot pay. But you are the village doctor…"

He saunters over with eyes that trace her slender figure in a fashion closer than comfort allows. Then it dawns on her, as chills run up her spine, her folly of rebuking the village elders.

"Surely you can pay in her stead." Words that hold a darker implication.

"I'm afraid I cannot", she replies firmly, gaze forward and fixed. The soldier smirks and a small gasp escapes her lips when his hand encloses one of her wrists.

"If you can't pay for my sword, then you can tend to my injuries instead," he mocks, wrenching her towards a doorway.

Her feet grind into the earth and panic seizes her heart. Words of protest dies in her throat before it can reach her lips. She twists against his iron-grip but to no avail.

Her free hand is en route to connect to the scoundrel's face when he is flung into the far ends of the narrow street, crashing on to his back. Peripherally, she barely catches the flash of white and purple, which blurs into the Supreme Commander of the Western army in mid-lunge with the base of his sheathed weapon raised.

Mitsunari stalks by wordlessly towards the fallen man. He had been brooding silently over campaign events when talk of a 'confrontation' between soldier and civilian drifted his way. After three days of fighting explosions and cowardice, one can imagine the young general's ire when he found his first division leader assaulting the same peasant that pestered him earlier in the day.

"This vermin behavior," his voice dripping with dark intent, "the Ishida army does not tolerate."

The disoriented soldier stumbles to his knees, mouth dripping red that stains the earth. "Ishida-sama, I-"

"Your display of gratitude disgusts me!" The grip on the handle of his odachi tightens.

A shuffling of light footsteps, followed by a voice that the general found all too soft for these turbulent times. "General Ishida, if I may, it is battle fatigue that your soldier-"

He casts her a cold glare. "This does not concern you. Know your place," Mitsunari warns her, but even then for the second time today he wonders….

_What would Hideyoshi-sama do?_

He grimaces inwardly, grip loosening on his weapon.

"This army has no use for the likes of you. You qualify not to fight for our country."

"But General Ishida, I beg of you-"

"Get out of my sight before I relieve you of your sordid existence as well." His voice darker than before. Immediately the ex-soldier struggles to his feet and makes himself scarce, his footsteps becoming a distant echo in cool darkness.

Mitsunari turns to the rest of his men.

"You and I shall fight for unification of this country, and henceforth, straying from this goal is punishable under penalty of death."

_Hideyoshi-sama would do that. I'm sure of it._

She saw it now as he paused and confronted his men; the will of iron that had forged the very steely eyes she'd found so intense and sharp.

"We ride at dawn," Mitsunari stated with finality before retreating to the stable's rafters where he sat.

"Ishida-sama," she accosted him, feeling it only proper to express her thanks. But whatever gratitude she felt was abruptly decimated by his words.

"Mind your business. You'd do well to remember that, peasant."

And for the second time that day, Ran hopes his horse kicks him.


	2. Bonds

Sengoku Basara franchise does not belong to me. Original characters are works of my imagination.

Mitsunari is suuuuch a grouch! Maybe some flowers will improve his mood =D

* * *

Ch2

* * *

"General, the men are ready."

"Give the orders. We move out now."

"Hai!"

Light claws at the horizon as Mitsunari steers his horse towards the village leader awaiting him at the village gates.

"Has anyone seen Ran-dono?" He overhears a group of women talking amongst themselves.

"I haven't seen her since last night. Do you think one of the soldiers-"

"No way, not after their general's speech."

Mitsunari's hands tighten around the reins. He is confident his men were not to blame for some peasant doctor's absence, but confidence is not certainty. The only certainty is that he will personally cut down any soldier in his army who strays from Hideyoshi-sama's goal. The warning he voiced last night was not a threat, but a promise.

The village leader was an elderly man who greeted Mitsunari by the entrance gates. He was a kindly man who wished to express his blessing for the young general's army but was promptly interrupted.

"Provisions will be sent out in 3 days to here for your village's effort," subconsciously he eyeballs the crowd but finding no one, "you have my word."

The village leader didn't even get a chance to reply before the young samurai galloped off with his troops, leaving a trail of dust behind.

"Young people nowadays seem to have everything," he laughs bitterly, "except respect."

* * *

Tokugawa Ieyasu spun the cup of tea in his hands, reminiscing the last meeting with a certain vagabond samurai. After a few rounds of sake, which Ieyasu adamantly but politely declined, Takeda Keiji was spilling his guts about peace. It's true the older man's penchant for alcohol often left the younger samurai uneasy, but a slight smile graces Ieyasu's young features as he replays the meeting idly in the placid corridors of his ancestor's home.

The Tokugawa Bukeyashiki covers a sprawling 10 acres of land in Northern Osaka. Built by Ieyasu's ancestors, the single floor construct, replete with wooden gates, fortified walls, multiple wells, a rice mill, garden, and dojo, originally served as the primary residence for the Tokugawa clan. Since the Sengoku era, much of the clan relocated several miles South to Osaka Castle to avoid the flames of war. Only Ieyasu, endeavoring to bring peace through a unified Japan, remains at the residence, with a skeleton crew for maintenance.

Of course, that's not to say the samurai mansion did not have guests. Beyond the rice mills, Ieyasu had called for construction of barracks, enough to house an army. The earth is pocked marked by campfires and smells eternally of blood and sweat, but to the soldiers of the Ishida army, it has been home since the Battle of Sekigahara. The men were unsure of Ishida's decision to camp at a rival residence, but they deferred questioning their solemn general and much preferred a stationary site to a nomadic existence.

"Protecting that which money cannot buy, huh?" Ieyasu sips absently from his cup despite the pounding of equine hooves growing in the distance. He leans back against a pillar supporting the rooftops, obscuring the triple hollyhock emblem of his clan. "That sounds like something Maeda-dono would say."

He rises to his feet just in time to hear his guest's swift footsteps rounding the corner of the corridor.

"Mitsunari, it's been a while. How was Chogoku?"

The latter casts him a cold glare. Of all the places available to sit, Ieyasu had chosen the only corridor en route to Mitsunari's chambers. Of course, that's how it had always been; Ieyasu unable to mind his own damn business.

"A trifle matter," he mutters, passing by.

"Rumors say there were explosives, even arquebus." A tacit implication.

The pale samurai stops mid-stride. Arquebus. Foreign weapons that held no place in samurai battle. Tools for those with neither the skill nor courage to wield a sword. Grip on his weapon tightens. Hideyoshi-sama would not approve of such cowardice!

"What of it?" he challenges, whirling around to meet Ieyasu with his trademark scowl.

A brief silence and finally: "Your soldiers, are they hurt?" he asks calmly.

"What concern is it to you?" Mitsunari demands, odachi raised and aimed at his rival. Ieyasu. For a man who asks a lot of irritating questions, he wasn't one to instigate aggression. Oh, but a fight he was going to get if he continues on with this foolish charade.

Oblivious to his murderous intent, Ieyasu replies with a boyish grin. "Ah, I'd like you to meet someone."

Mitsunari could only raise an eyebrow when his rival calls for someone indoors.

"As you know, Irochi-ojisan has retired to the countryside."

Ah, the prattling resident doctor who serviced the mansion with his healing arts, and much to Mitsunari's dismay, would give him an earful about principles of conversation after each campaign. He had wondered where was the blathering fool.

"I've been pressed to find a successor for him, especially should the Lords of Aizu domain visit," Ieyasu explains. There is a flash of solemnity in Ieyasu' eyes that Mitsunari catches as the shoji slides open.

"Hajimemashite, Ishida-dono," came the soft voice with a bow. "Douzo yoroshiku onegaishimasu."

So she was here. That peasant! Except she didn't look a peasant anymore. At first glance is a face devoid of yesterday's dirt and grime, framed by long dark hair recently freed from a bun. She had also swapped her grungy, green garbs for a pristine, white yukata adorned with bamboo tracings. The first glance is all Mitsunari needs to know, but his eyes decided otherwise. She was worth two glances, at least, in which he finds her nails immaculate, shoulders modest, lips curled and eyes dignified without overconfidence. If she was shocked that he was here, it was not mirrored in her eyes.

"…"

"Ran-san has been practicing medicine all her life. She's been taught the trade well and will be especially helpful with the soldiers and…indiscretions," Ieyasu states, a smile ghosting over his features.

Mitsunari bristled at the implicit slight, and if looks could kill, the two idiots before him would have died several times over.

"Ieyasu-dono, you speak too highly of me. I happened to be raised by healers and merely followed their footsteps. I pray my abilities can fulfill the expectations of Doctor Irochi," she replies softly.

That voice. Despite the physical reversal, he found, much to his dismay, it is the same soft, weak peasant from yesterday. Mitsunari grimaces inwardly. Had he not heard it, he could have seen it in the implacable serenity of her eyes. Eyes that had no place in an era like this.

"That's right," as if Ieyasu suddenly recalls something, "Mitsunari, Ran-san should go tend to your soldiers right away. You probably lost quite a number of-"

"They are soldiers," the other man interrupted with unprecedented sharpness in his voice, "death is inevitable." The rebuke he expected was not from Ieyasu but rather the peasant.

"With all due respect, Mitsunari-dono, they are men who died fighting for a dream, an ideal, a family," her voice barely above a whisper, "for you."

"Then they died as you they should," Mitsunari counters, grip on his weapon returning with renewed fervor. They died as Hideyoshi-sama would have expected.

"Oi, Mitsunari, that's too far. People fight for many reasons, but don't you see the bond you had with your men that compelled them to fight along side you?" Ieyasu intervenes, recalling the message of a vagabond friend.

Mitsunari tosses his rival a dirty look. First the slight and now he was taking sides with an outsider! A weak, pathetic outsider nonetheless. He sneers inwardly. Enough. He didn't need to prove himself to some peasant and bond-touting idiot.

"Hn." He turns on his heels. "Katteni shiro."

Ran watches his retreating form. "Ieyasu-dono, did I misspeak?"

"Ah, don't mind him Ran-dono," Ieyasu sighs, scratching the back of his head, "Conversing isn't his forte. He's that kind of a guy."

* * *

If anyone were to walk by the Tokugawa garden in the evening, they would witness blurs of purple flashes before their eyes could register Ishida Mitsunari sheathing his sword at the end of his kata practice. Throughout the Toyotomi era, Mitsunari was hailed as the fastest and deadliest of vassals. Some still think he is. What they don't know is that despite his footwork and technique, re-sheathing his o-dachi is a turnover time of greatest vulnerability. During that moment, he is defenseless and visible to the naked eye. For this reason, he is practicing- no, perfecting his routine to minimize the turnover time from one attack to the next. Because the most dangerous samurai is not one **whose** attack be cannot seen during battle, it is the **one** who cannot be seen once battle starts.

Mitsunari finishes the last slash and sheaths his sword just as a warm breeze picks up. The residence has a dojo but he prefers training outdoors with the elements. He is heading back on a cobblestone path when one of the Irises in the path slides off its stalk and on to his feet. On one knee, his free hand examines the purple floor. He is no stranger to the smell of Irises, the patch of said flowers is nearest to his practice site, but the feel of its silky petals, even through his glove is a foreign sensation. Mitsunari concludes one of his attacks probably nicked the flower out of its proper place, and is about to toss it away when-

"Mitsunari-dono?"

The young general springs to his feet, hand fisting the flower slightly behind his back. "Nani?" He turns around.

She greets him with a bow and bids him good evening, all of which is promptly ignored.

"This garden was the first place I wanted to see, but I didn't get a chance to come during the time Ieyasu-dono showed me around the residence," she gazes at the colorful patches, "it is beautiful, wouldn't you agree?"

Mitsunari grumbles something about Ieyasu being a samurai, and not a pansy gardener to which the peasant, much to his ire, has the gall to laugh. It is a light, twinkling sound, perhaps musical in quality, but what the hell did he know about music?

"Mitsunari-dono, there may be a samurai who also enjoys growing plants," she replies with a smile, remembering a kindly one in Oushuu who gave her some daikon as thanks for treating his Lord.

"…"

A silence ensues and for a moment Ran gathers her words carefully.

"Moshiwake arimasen, Mitsunari-dono," she apologizes, head bowed, "forgive me for not mentioning our prior meeting to Ieyasu-dono and not informing you yesterday that I was to come here." She takes his silence as a cue to continue.

"I did not have the chance yesterday, but thank you for coming to my aid."

"Any behavior that infringes upon loyalty to the cause of the Ishida army will not be tolerated," he enunciates, as if reciting a mantra. Hideyoshi-sama would never tolerate such insolence. "You are of no consequence."

Ah, there it was again. The very quality that made her wish his steed kicked him or that the straps of his waraji would snap during battle. Ieyasu-dono had briefly explained to her Mitsunari's devotion Hideyoshi Toyotomi. It made sense that he was a righteous samurai under the teachings of the late Lord. She also supposed that one with strength such as Mitsunari would be ironically, entitled to some arrogance. However, perhaps it was too much to ask among the limited spectrum of his personality for a pinch of politeness. Kindness was definitely out of the question.

Ran sighs inwardly. Still, if not for him she would have been in a world of trouble.

"Of course, Mitsunari-dono. Order must always be maintained in an army, and one must never lose sight of the goal," she nods in agreement. To Mitsunari, it was probably the least irritating thing she said since they've met.

"I thank you nonetheless." She bids her leave but he interrupts.

"Why are you here?" he asks out of the blue.

"…I don't understand," Ran replies, smiling at the samurai awkwardly. Now, in full moonlight, she notices how his pale skin develops an alabaster sheen and how his white hair catches silvers of platinum to compliment his sharp jawline. Surely the ghastly and spectral young man she met yesterday could not be the same ethereal entity before her now.

"This is a den of wolves. It is no place for a woman of your nature," the gravity of his words, snapping her out of her reverie, "have you no fear of us?"

Of me?

His eyes trap hers in a fierce, unyielding gaze, but she recalls Ieyasu-dono's words.

_The one who risks his life out of pure devotion for another..._

"No." If not for his excellent hearing, her answer would have been whisked away by the winds.

His eyes of steel narrow, daring her to continue, and somehow she finds her courage.

…_surely that person can form bonds with others._

"I am not afraid," her eyes still as placid as ever, but with a trace of something Mitsunari could not place, "because this den of wolves runs with bonds."

He searches her expression for fear, doubt, anger, anything, before breaking away. She excuses herself and bids him a good evening, leaving him in the evening breeze.

"Stubborn woman," he mutters, walking away from the crushed floral.

* * *

_Katteni shiro: do as you please/whatever you want._

_Waraji: rope sandals_

_Dozo yoroshiku: form of greeting, please be nice to me/take care of me._

_Hajimemashite: geeting when meeting someone for first time _


	3. Devotion

I do not own Sengoku Basara franchise, only original characters are of my creation.

Chapter is shorter, but it's ALL Mitsunari! :3

Blast. I realize I have erred after the chapter was written.

Ieyasu did not ask Mitsunari to be his general, right? Me suspects my hallucination from Sengoku Basara fever.

Alas, it's done. Just run with it? Prettiest please? =D

There isn't a character I dislike in Sengoku Basara despite how I portray them.

Not Ieyasu, of course. Not even Toyotomi. Okay, maybe Mogami for his pansy airs.

* * *

Ch 3:

* * *

The young general's odachi slips back into the scabbard with practiced ease as his silhouette stretches towards the garden against a full moon. Each night, he's been attempting to break the speed limit of his attacks from the night before. The world was big and if Mitsunari were to seize it one day, he'd have to be the fastest, strongest one of them all. Just like Hideyoshi-sama. Yet why did the same world seem so small?

She hasn't engaged him in conversation since their last meeting, but out of all the people in the residence, it had to be her who appears at the garden during his practices. It had to be this weak, peon of a girl with her loosely tied hair and soft humming who tends the garden with muted diligence in the moonlight at the **same** time he trains.

Peripherally, Mitsunari tracks movement, but promptly ignores it because he doesn't want to see the resident doctor tending to her favorite patch of purple flowers. Vaguely, the foreign sensation of an Iris against gloved fingers resurfaces. He grimaces inwardly. Despite his initial annoyance, he is better off going about his business than telling her to be gone. That would entail conversing. It's not that he's bad with words, even if that is true; Mitsunari decides that he can tolerate her silent presence.

Just nothing else.

* * *

"Oi, Ran-dono came to see me today! Jealous?"

"Nani! Well, it's a good thing she is here. I never thought I'd survive that wound."

He hated overhearing his men speak of her. The way their eyes lit up at the mention of her name, how they touted her "miracles", and painted her with terms of endearment, all served to escalate the growing scowl that marred his features. He did not ask her to visit the barracks at the crack of dawn, and for sure, he did not request her to evaluate their living conditions. Impudent peasant! If anything, she was distracting his men from their goal. From him.

* * *

Mitsunari doesn't sit outdoors in the afternoons anymore. He can't stand the sight of Ieyasu with the peasant girl in the long corridors conversing as if all was right with the world. The lightness of Ieyasu's words, and her tinkling laughter that Mitsunari finds most annoying, makes his teeth grind. Has the probability of war slipped out of their feeble minds? Mitsunari had no delusions of Ieyasu being trouble, but add on this peasant, and it's a disaster because they believe in similar ideals.

* * *

Even in the confines of his room, Mitsunari finds no relief. On one occasion as he is polishing his weapon, a flurry of parchment sweeps into the open shoji doors, scattering far and wide over the tatami mats. He had left the sliding doors open for ventilation, but apparently that had been a mistake. There's a desperate scrambling on the other side of the thin walls, and he sees the silhouette following the trails of pages into his room. Wordlessly, he snatches up the pieces, shoves it into her guilty hands and tells her to bind her manuscripts or else he'll slash it next time. It's more than being irresponsible, but he supposed that term would suffice.

* * *

Not everything she does infuriates him, however. He was on his way to the barracks when her struggles reached his ears.

She was fetching water; a servant's task he did not deign to try. From her straining and grunting, it seems to be a challenge to lift a loaded bucket from a well that extended meters into the ground. One of her feet leaves the ground, and Mitsunari could have seen her fall in if not for Ieyasu's untimely intervention. His rival had appeared in the nick of time to grapple her upper torso before she lost her balance. Again, the light laughter as Ieyasu scratches the back of his head. With a sneer Mitsunari walks on. Typical of Ieyasu to be a hero when what she really needed was a good bath to wash some common sense into her.

* * *

The sudden rustle of florals snaps Mitsunari out of his musings. It's true he found her qualities most vexatious, but retrospectively she had not once spoken ill of the dead.

He gazes forlornly at the full moon with a slack grip on his odachi.

"Hideyoshi-sama…Hanbei-sama"

After the events of Sekigahara, Mitsunari was more determined that ever to fight for the dreams of his deceased Lord and strategist. True to his word, he had not allowed himself to conspire with Tokugawa Ieyasu; nor had he become his general after the last match. The fight ended in a stalemate with both collapsed after executing the final, deadliest attack at his disposal.

When they came to, Ieyasu offered residence to him and his army; highlighting the need to recuperate so one can fight another day. Ieyasu always had a way with words. No alliance was formed and Ieyasu even had accommodations prepared for Mitsunari and his army. One thing lead to another and months later, Mitsunari was running campaigns across Japan to actualize his late lord's dream.

A wispy darkness drifts overhead, carried by the cool evening wind.

What he didn't expect was the amount of charisma and judgment it took to become an effective general. More often than not, Mitsunari found himself at the crossroads of overcoming a problem as a vassal or as a general. More than he cared to know, leading proved more difficult than following. But…wasn't that what he wanted?

_Hideyoshi-sama, I beg your permission to commit this act of insolence here and now. _

_Your teachings shall be in this heart of mine for the rest of my life._

Dark clouds recede and once again, all is clear in silvery light.

Of course. Hideyoshi-sama's principles will live on through him. With that as guidance, he will achieve the goal of his most respected Lord. A nation of unity and strength. Someday in the future.

Mitsunari grips his o-dachi.

_These hands of mine shall carry your will, Hideyoshi-sama._


	4. Invincibility

Sengoku Basara franchise does not belong to me. Original characters are products of my neuronal action potentials.

I'm not sure who's reading (if anyone at all), but please review. I can read my chapters over (which I do), but it's like doing a crossword I created myself. As the writer, I will never experience the story like you do as a reader. So let me know if it's good, bad, mediocre and/or really needs work.

Please, help me make it better than it is now, because I know it's possible. Thanks!

Now for some srsbsns!

Date Masamune is a total baller who struts with all the swag in the Sengoku Basara world! So when he tells you

"**Let's get serious!" **and to **"Psyche up!"** for this chapter,

what do you say?

**Yeah! xD**

Move over Mitsunari, it's Ran-dono's time to shine!

* * *

Ch 3:

* * *

"Mitsunari-dono, daijoubu desu ka?" Ran inquires, hands folded on her lap.

"Leave me be," he intones without looking at her from his seat against the walls that is painted with an amber glow from the western horizon.

She had not planned on being here, not after their first encounter with his eerie, arrogant words. Ran was tending to the Ishida soldiers at the barracks after they had returned from a recent campaign three villages over, when one of field generals accosted her about Mitsunari.

"Ran-dono, General Ishida fought ninjas during today's battle", he had strands of grey escaping his kabuto. "They do not fight as we samurai do. Please, I ask humbly of you to go see to him first."

Of course she had explained to him that his General was a man of great skill, and that she couldn't simply leave behind the many wounded here to tend to one man. One rude, conceited man, she may add.

"An army is nothing without its leader. Never have I doubted General Ishida's military prowess but alas," he removes the kabuto and lowers his head in pardon, "he is a young man."

In that instant, she had felt ashamed. Ashamed, that she had not understood what the wise samurai saw in the general.

The invincibility of youth.

Of course, how could she forget? Young warriors, too gung-ho about fighting for their own good, without the slightest hindsight to take care of themselves. She had seen it before in a certain Oushuu ruler, who practically epitomized transient immortality, so why was she so surprised to see it again in different warrior who was just as young, if not younger?

But now that she is here, kneeling at the entrance of his chambers, there is no doubt that this is the person who needs her most desperately. His stormy eyes and heaving shoulders told her gut instinct to press on. Without another word, Ran advances to his corner where the walls have gone pale without the rays of dusk.

"I beg your pardon, but nothing ails you, my lord?" she persists, straining against the dark to meet his eyes.

In the blink of an eye, she sees a flash of silver as the odachi flies from the sheath that rests against Mitsunari's shoulder. For a moment, Ran thinks it's the fear of death that arrests her breathing, but after the weapon clatters lifelessly on the mat, she knows it's Mitsunari's frozen grip instead.

He curses underneath his breath and falls back against the wall, shorter of breath than before.

"Mitsunari-dono!" Ran seizes his hand and searches his gaze, but he tears away.

At a closer distance in the moonlight, she sees the source of his problems. There underneath the right clavicle where his armor fails to reach, a single puncture, the size of a pinhead, scabbed with dried blood. Wordlessly, Ran reaches for back of his ankles and squeezes the tendon. He demands to know what she's doing, but there's no reply as she drums each knee with her fingertips. Mitsunari is about to bark an order when a sigh of relief escapes her lips when his wrists twitch reflexively against her drumming.

He's about to tell her off when she tells him to stay here and to follow her instructions. "The needle injury you have isn't good. We have time, but there isn't much. I will do my best, Mitsunari-dono."

Ran is out the door before he can spat who the hell she thinks she is.

* * *

"But Ran-dono, Mitsunari-sama is adamant about-"

"Tschiyo-san, Mitsunari-dono is not well." This is absurd. She was wasting time she- **HE **did not have, as the senior attendant explained to her about why the General of the Ishida army did not have a futon.

"Mitsunari-dono, ordered it never to be bought into his room. He doesn't sleep in them," the older woman explained.

"He needs to be comfortable," Ran said with finality in her voice, "get one for him immediately. Time is of the essence. Hurry. Go."

She is halfway down the corridor to her room for the ingredients to concoct the antidote before the head of staff gave up and decided to deal with the task at hand.

* * *

Ran returns to Mitsunari's room to find him not only in a futon but changed out of his armor as well. The candles at each corner bathe his room in a beige glow. Bright enough for work, yet dim enough for rest.

Thank you, Tschiyo-san.

Slowly, she lowers the tray with bowl of dark liquid on to the ground and sits Mitsunari up, noticing the slack in his arms. He isn't happy but it's hard to tell underneath the shroud of hazy eyes. Her sooty hands are shaking as she holds the bowl out to him.

"Mitsunari-dono, I've prepare this for you. It's –"

"I did not ask for your help," he turns his head away with a mild scowl, "or for you to make me such poisonous liquid."

She winces at his acerbic remark, but the bowl never leaves her outstretched hands despite the assault on her pride.

"The needle that stung you on the chest has left you poisoned, Mitsunari-dono," Ran explains with a calmness even she can barely manage, "…I have made the antidote. Please, you can doubt me later, but not now. The poison has taken your legs, it will take your arms next, and then…" Her voice leaves as she recalls the grisly effects from her manuscripts, and she eyes the swirling bowl.

He glares at her. "And then what?"

Hesitation.

"It travels north, paralyzes your speech, seizes your lungs," her voice barely a whisper. Ran turns to him again with renewed desperation. "So please, trust me Mitsunari-dono. I offer you my head if you still doubt me after all this is over."

She passes the bowl to him at a closer distance and lowers her head.

"Douzo."

Mitsunari watches her for a moment before turning his head.

"Ah."

Ran waits for him, but he doesn't stir. The strained scowl on his face, and she realizes. Of course…

"Mitsunari-dono, if I may," with slow deliberation she reaches for his immobile hand and wraps it around the bowl with her smaller ones, bringing the liquid to his lips, "here."

If the young general was angry, he didn't show it after emptying the first dose.

* * *

Ran had just sent out a letter to Ieyasu regarding Mitsunari when she returned to the latter's room. She'd thought he would be doing better, but the acute fever and night sweat during his slumber told her otherwise. At this time of the night, the servants were probably sleeping so she did what she could with a rag and a bowl of water.

She is about to rinse the rag when he mutters in his sleep.

"What are you doing?"

"I-You are running a fever", she fumbles with the dirtied rag. "I thought to wipe off the sweat."

Mitsunari considers her reply.

"Get it over with," comes the same somnolent voice, and it sends a chill down her spine.

She runs a corner of the rag down his face and it confirms her worst fear.

"Mitsunari-dono, it's almost time for your next dose," she announces, a tremor threatening to break through her professional façade, "I'm going to get it for you, now."

* * *

Ran hauls the entire kettle back to his room at a speed she never knew possible for a problem she'd never thought could get so out of hand. The antidote she made, he'd have to take it all tonight. At high concentrations, there's a chance the antidote may overexert his heart, but Ran decided the chance at life was better than the certainty of death. If the toxins remain unopposed, it will be a short matter of time before respiratory arrest occurs.

Ran brusquely slides open the shoji door.

She has to try. What honor is there in being a doctor if she couldn't even save a man, this young man in his prime, from slow asphyxiation?

* * *

Mitsunari was doing very well with Ran's help, downing the bitter liquid between bouts of caustic remarks when he suddenly went silent. Initially, she thinks it's because he's busy drinking, but then it becomes all too clear what happens when he fails to reply to his name being called.

For the first time, Ran feels the brunt of real life betraying facts. The manuscript that she committed to memory fell to death ears against this brutal reality of impending death. After all the studying, practice and attention to detail- what did she do wrong? Her eyes fall dark.

She thinks of the Ishida army, how they will be band of men without direction now that their general was going to die. She thinks of her failure to one man, this young, righteous, devoted man who was going to die a most horrible, untimely death, leaving behind men who had entrusted his life in her hands. Her blurry vision trails to the said man, whose eyes are staring at her through a storm. Apologizing, she turns away; the contents of the bowl in her hands threaten to spill under the momentum.

The ceramic bowl resting in her hands held the rest of the antidote. There isn't much, but at this point there isn't much to lose either. If death was so determined to claim him, then she would do everything in her power before that final moment arrived. She had to.

"Mitsunari-dono, if you can hear me," she discreetly blots her eyes, "I shall help you finish the last of the antidote. I will pray for your swift recovery. Please, pardon my impropriety."

His pupils dilate as she drains the bowl and smashes herself against him to force the rest of the bitter fluid down his throat.

There was no grace, no gentleness, no warmth, no feeling usually associated with said physical contact. A normal girl would never **imagine** her first kiss to happen in such a manner, with a dying, male counterpart nonetheless.

But Ran isn't imaging.

She's **thinking**

…

About the Ishida army

about its General

the arrogant, devoted warrior

Who was just a man.


	5. Lamentation

I do not own Sengoku Basara, only the original character(s). This piece was written for meaning, not monetary gain.

Thank you for the feedback =)

Creative energies required to actualize this chapter spanned several days, but at last, it is finished!

At the risk of his zanmetsu, I must say Mitsunari is such a child. :P

* * *

Ch 5: Lamentation

* * *

The swallows awoke her. Leaving her seat against the wall, Ran paddles over to Mitsunari, a colorless form obscured by the morning sadness. She sits by his side, unaware of the twitching edges of her mouth when she notes how his features soften in slumber and how his short, platinum hair gives him a boyish appeal usually masked by the razor in his voice and eyes.

Like second nature, she reaches over to his forehead.

In the blink of eye, his trademark scowl surfaces and those steel eyes, sharper than his odachi, entrap her brown ones.

"Stay your hand," he grumbles, voice hoarse from disuse, "least you desire to lose it."

"Your fever broke," she announces, expression mild as ever. "I see your voice returned as well." She tells him to rest before calling Tschiyo-san in to stay by his side.

* * *

Ran returns when the sun hits its peak, having tended to the soldiers and setting Mitsunari's taper dose of antidote to cook. She sits by his bedside, fingers weaving edamame from its shell, vaguely recalling the conversation with a teary-eyed Tschiyo-san in the hall.

"_You saved his life. The gratitude I feel cannot be measured in words. Thank you for taking care of him."_

Of course, Ran had rubbed off the compliment from the elderly woman with equally polite words, but despite how trying last night had been, it isn't why Ran reminisces.

"_In all the years I've taken care of Sakichi, I have never seen him so ill."_

Ran forms the word silently with her lips, and for the second time in the day, the corners of her mouth twitches. She is about to muse over how a dangerous, fearsome general could've had such a cute childhood name, when said person stirs.

At first, it's tossing and turning, which Ran attributes to discomfort. Flailing arms follow, and at a closer distance, right by his futon, she hears hushed cries. A small, whisper of names. Two she doesn't know.

"Hanbei-sama…"

"…Gyobu"

She reaches to his turned-over form and sees his countenance contorted against the soaked sheet. The third name; one that she knows.

"…Hideyoshi-sama"

Her outstretched hand holds back and the sad reality of losing those you love to war washes over. She had rebuked him on Ieyasu's behalf during her first day here for not understanding bonds, but maybe he did understand. Maybe he understood more than she did, because maybe true comprehension lies in shouldering the weight of loss. A burden she hardly knows compared to the young warrior.

Her eyes fall to his slumbering face, etched with lines, and she decides that it's also bearing the brunt of guilt. Another package to carry on the long journey of life, except this is a poison that festers the soul from inside out. An insidious toxin most travelers on the road are unaware they carry. Another burden that he is too young to shoulder. She considers him with the tiniest smile.

_Young he maybe, but weak he is not._

Her hand reaches over for his tangled covers, but at that same moment she regrets.

In a flash of activity, Ran is on her back, wind rent from her chest and pinned in place by the strength of unfettered anger.

"What are you doing?" he growls.

She would answer but her voice is sealed by a grip of iron. His eyes burn into hers, but Ran finds no malice. There is only pure, simple and wholesome anger reminiscent of children throwing tantrums.

"What. Are. You. Doing?" This time, it's a desperate pitch with wails bubbling beneath the surface. A tear from above lands on her cheek and the image comes together. These are not the eyes that strike fear into enemy hearts, she decides. Her eyes soften despite a compromised airway. She sees it now…

Eyes moist, clear and angry resembling those of a child who demand that which was lost be impossibly returned.

Mitsunari reels away, relinquishing his grip to run a sleeve by his face. "Go away!" he snaps.

A silence.

"They must feel fortunate that you mourn for them" she wants to say before the owner of heavy footsteps tears down the corridor and slams open the shoji door.

"Mitsunari, I got the letter from-" His eyebrows furrow at the sight of tossed covers, scattered edamame, a flustered young lady and the Ishida general who wouldn't look him in the eye.

"Okaerinasai," Ran bowed, being the first to recover, "thank you for your swift return Ieyasu-dono. I hope all has gone well with your endeavor."

Ieyasu is casting his ex-comrade a look Ran could not decipher when he answered her. "Yes, it went well."

The resident doctor excuses herself to go check on medication boiling in the kitchen. With a polite bow, she apologizes for the mess and promises to have it cleaned up.

"What happened?" Ieyasu asks when her footsteps fade. He absently plucks an edamame off the floor and extracts a soybean.

"Poison." The other man stares off into space, drawing one knee up.

Ieyasu decides Mitsunari wouldn't indulge his initial curiosity even if he rephrased the question. So he drops the issue.

"Food?" Ieyasu picks up another and repeats the process while leaning against a wall.

"Aizu no Shinobi" Mitsunari murmurs, fist clenching.

A silence as Ieyasu chews thoughtfully. "Aizu clan has been a problem lately," he considers and turns to the Ishida general. "But I came back because Ran wrote you were seriously wounded…"

"Tch." That meddlesome woman...

"You seem better now", Ieyasu says with a nod. "Looks like I recruited the right person for the right job."

Mitsunari shoots him with his trademark glare to erase the smile off Ieyasu's face before staring off into space again.

"Ah."


	6. Sentiment

I do not own Sengoku Basara franchise, only original characters. I write for meaning, not monetary gain.

* * *

Can you catch this chapter's irony? Happy reading!

Ch 5.5 Sentiment

* * *

"What the hell is this?" Mitsunari glowers at the purple, potted atrocity besides his odachi stand. His gaze returns to the woman kneeling before him with a bowl. She must have snuck it into his room while he was unconscious. How dare she!

"A flower, Mitsunari-dono," came her simple reply, with a lightness that narrows his eyes.

"I know that," he spats, the indignant sting of an encounter past. "Why is it here?"

Ran raises her head to connect with his sharp eyes. "The iris is a symbol of valor and faith; a most suitable companion for you," she provides with leveled grace.

"It's unsightly," he scowls, half at her words and half at the floral. If she thinks flattery will get her out of this, she is mistaken.

"It is the last of the patch," she gazes forlornly past the shoji into the garden, "the rest have been withered away by the elements in the last two days. They are so fragile."

Ran was not oblivious to Mitsunari's reaction. In fact, she expected it. She had seen the purple curling out of his balled fist the first night at the Tokugawa residence. Of course, he wouldn't know, unless she desired a swift demise. But the temptation had been too great, and what better way to placate her current dismay than to bring the last one to the individual she thought responsible, even if minimally.

She notes the décor of his room, or rather, the lack of it. If not for the futon Tschiyo-san "neglected" to take out, there would only be candles and an odachi stand. Silently, she supposed if the general was not capable of guilt then at least his room would have something inside.

He follows her eyes, tracing the strong stalks and the rich, soft petals. The last two days, she said. When he had his brush with death. Had she spent all her time tending to him? He certainly had not asked that of her. Mitsunari grimaces. The war to express gratitude or tell her to mind her own business rages, but eventually concludes with a stalemate of the Ishida general's default reply.

"…"

Ran decides he may not be as articulate where things that require a delicate touch is concerned, and spares him. "But, this one is strong, different. I hope it stays with you throughout the winter. The iris is my favorite amongst the garden variety". Her smile distantly reminds him of a time bright and carefree.

A time of calm…

A time of normalcy…

A time before the sword…

"The character embodied by this flower- may it become a preference of yours one day as well," Ran continues.

He is yanked away by cold as his fingers alight the weapon; a guarded weight of steel portending a code of moral rectitude and stipulation of honor. A sword bearing convictions of his soul to protect frivolities of a former life. A life he thinks from long ago that in essence, when he beholds her demure eyes or the defaming floral, is indeed not so.

"As if", he scoffs, reaching for the bowl before her, and in fell swoop drains the bitter liquid. "You preference concerns me not. This better be gone by my return at dusk." He had strength to restore and enemies to repay in blood than to deal with a peon's petty circumstances- a weak, sentimental peon at that.

* * *

Did you catch it? :D

This concludes the saga of Mitsunari's poisoning. Next up is a controversial piece which will either earn me confetti or pitchforks in the rump (likely the latter), but it must be written. It begets some intense, heavy drama with a pinch of dry humor. I'm dead $$ about this, so schedule a trip to the hardware store. Don't forget torches.

**Holy…thank you for the feedback!**

**Crimsonlotus**: I appreciate your reading and wow, to be stalked! Such honor! *beams*

**Konoha'sYellowFlash****:** lol, Mitsunari tolerates Ieyasu. He has to since Ieyasu's all _mi casa es su casa _in terms of his crib…jk. They're on speaking terms, not friendly ones :T

**SakuraSky09:** I had no idea my footnotes were misplaced! Pardon the myopic sloppiness. Thank you for catching that. Bravo! It's true readers see what writers cannot.


	7. Composure

I do not own Sengoku Basara, only original characters. I write for meaning, not monetary gain.

**Ch 6**- in which we discover what charms the palate of Ishida Mitsunari among other pertinent details.

* * *

Over the next week, Mitsunari spends most of training and meeting with his field commanders. In fact, between bouts of meditation and brooding, that's all he spends his time doing. His meals grow cold and the candles of his room burn late into the night. None of this went unnoticed by the resident doctor who finally approached Tschiyo-san regarding the matter.

"Mitsunari-dono takes medicine, but the servants informed me his food remains untouched," she tells the head of staff, wringing water from a soaked sheet before handing it over.

The elder woman hangs the item over a bamboo line to dry. "Ara?" There is amusement in her voice. "It can't be that he's mad?"

Ran knits her brows. "I'm not sure I understand Tschiyo-san, but I am concerned about his health", the younger woman folding her hands before her summer yukata, white with lilac blossoms on the sleeves.

Tschiyo empties the bucket that contained the afternoon wash. "Ah, you haven't been informed, but when Sakichi was young, he would go days without eating until he got his way. That boy was trouble, but to think he grew up to be so tall," she recalls fondly, releasing her sleeves from the white tie.

"But Mitsunari-dono is-"

A hand on her shoulder. "Daijoubu desu," Tschiyo reassures with a warm smile at the only other woman who worries for the sullen youth. "It is but a phase. Though Ran-dono, if you do what I did, it may expedite his sulking…"

* * *

"What. Is. This?" Mitsunari demands as he crosses the threshold. "You said we had business to discuss, Ieyasu."

The aroma of fish and miso in the air; the warmth of steamed rice.

Ran covers a pot, returning to her seat besides Ieyasu.

After hours of slaving over a hot stove, Ran managed to prepare the specified meal from Tschiyo-san's advice that would appease the tetchy Ishida general. With hindsight, she should have never attempted such a stunt, especially on account of said person's livid expression, but…

"Ah, we do," Ieyasu grins from his seat, "but how about we talk over dinner? Ran-san made it for this occasion herself."

…thank goodness she bought Ieyasu-dono.

He always had the right words.

She happened upon him in the corridors on her way to the kitchen. Never one to beat around the bush with him, Ran disclosed her concern of Mitsunari. He in return, had told her it was perfect timing for Mitsunari and him to discuss some military matters. Whether or not this was true, will be revealed soon enough, but Ran would not fault the Tokugawa heir for his timing and consideration. In truth, if there was anyone who held sway over the temperamental Ishida general, it was Tokugawa Ieyasu.

"Douzo, Mitsunari-dono." Ran gestures to a third dining set next to Ieyasu for good measure.

Mitsunari almost turns on his heels, but Ieyasu's promise to speak about a certain Aizu Lord compels him to stay. The drifting aroma helps too, though he'll never admit it. With a grunt, he seats himself, finding the white kimono and purple hakama too light and soft for his comfort. He keeps it on because the peasant had insisted his armor would do no good for his healing. Mitsunari is no doctor, but he is no fool either to undermine his own recuperation, so tentatively and begrudgingly he follows.

"This better be important," he warns, before making short work of the miso soup.

Ieyasu takes a bite of his food. "Umai, kono yakizakana!" He grins wildly at Ran, whom humbly brushes off the remark.

Mitsunari stiffens at the tacit slight and is about snap a foul remark when he takes his first bite.

"Dou desu ka, Mitsunari-dono?" She turns to him, smiling in a way that vaguely reminds him of the flower in his room, while he allows the flavor to melt inside his mouth.

"Edible," Mitsunari notes tersely, reaching for another piece of the grilled fish. He fails to see the growing smile on her face as she returns to her bowl.

"Lord Gamo has been expanding his territory" Ieyasu states as the amber outside slips to dark.

**Gamo Hideyuki.**

The name produces bitterness on Mitsunari's palate.

A residual, obsolete, vassal of the crumbled Oda Nobunaga Empire. After the fall of the Devil King, the man had gathered what riches he could salvage from his days of servitude and sequestered himself deep in the terrains of Aizu. How he had risen to become Lord, any fool could guess, but even then his avarice knew no bounds. After the death of Lord Hideyoshi, he had ordered his army, cowards like the ones Mitsunari fought in Chogoku, to claw its way into neighboring provinces, leaving a path of sulfur, smoke and death in its wake. There were even rumors of arquebus trade surrounding the Aizu clan, a practice outlawed during Toyotomi rule.

Mitsunari sets his bowl down. There isn't much left but he's no longer hungry. He stares intensely at the soft flame from a candle. "So I have heard."

"Ah, Mitsunari-dono, Ieyasu-dono," comes a soft voice. "Perhaps it is best to discuss such matters over sake?" Ran reaches over to a shelf and retrieves a ceramic container. Tschiyo-san also suggested sake to ease any unforeseen tension. Whether or not it would be efficacious, she'll find out for future references.

"…Sake?" Ieyasu repeats and before Ran can answer Mitsunari takes the initiative.

"Yes, sake", the other general mocks and whatever protest dies in Ieyasu's throat as his ex-comrade reminds him refusing another's courtesy is blatantly inconsiderate. The irony is more than enough to make Ieyasu's stomach churn.

"Ah…arigato", the dark-haired samurai brings himself to say as a filled saucer is passed his way.

Mitsunari shoots him a smirk before draining his share- daring Ieyasu to follow.

Yellow eyes meet the swirling fluid. Ieyasu is no coward, and he decides he will neither be rude nor bested as he downs his serving. The bitterness assaults him, but it isn't intolerable, much to Mitsunari's dismayed sneer.

"How is it?" Ran asks, ever so vigilant with refills.

"…"

"Ii da yo," Ieyasu replies for the lack of an accurate word, and despite initial misgivings, takes another serving before getting back to the matter at hand. "He has taken Shimogo and Omi. None of which with proper conduct". A darkness cast over Ieyasu's youthful countenance.

Mitsunari feels his mouth go dry and it isn't from the sake.

The unspoken code of conduct all warlords abide by. Unwritten standards of behavior, that governed behavior of both general and soldier in enemy lands, not unlike the type Mitsunari enforced in a measly village months ago when he met her. Rules Lord Hideyoshi too had followed.

_Desecration of graves, homes, trees are forbidden_

"My scouts report villages in flames…"

_Pillage and destruction not tolerated_

"…left barren..."

_Civilians are to be left alone_

"…with no survivors…"

Ran corks the empty sake flask with contorted eyes. "How awful…"

"That is war," Mitsunari mutters, tossing her a glare. Though inwardly, even he knows it should not be. It wouldn't be under the Toyotomi rule either.

Ieyasu sets his empty saucer down. "Regardless, it will stop. I will request an audience with Lord Gamo to forge an alliance."

"Hn, not if I take his head first," Mitsunari sneers, and is about to state that he shall take great pleasure in decapitating the old Gamo rat when a messenger interrupts through the shoji doors.

"Mitsunari-sama, your scout has returned and bears urgent news."

The Ishida general mutters under his breath and storms out the room with slamming shoji doors.

"Ieyasu-dono…will Mitsunari-dono kill Lord Gamo?" It's the first time she has ever seen such raw malice in his eyes. The desire to murder another man shakes her very soul.

The samurai in yellow turns to face her. "Probably. But I shall make it to Aizu before he does", he replies with an assuring grin. "You are probably in more danger than Lord Gamo, having to take care of him everyday."

"I beg your pardon, my Lord?" She tilts her head, humor lost to formality.

"Ah, it's nothing," and grins at her again, dropping his posture into a slouch. "But because of you, many live who would have otherwise died. You do well here."

Ran slides her hands together into a deep bow. "Your words are too kind, Ieyasu-dono, I am merely-"

"Ran….ka?" He murmurs to no one in particular.

She lifts her head to see his small, tranquil smile, reminding her how young he- no, they are underneath the titles and responsibilities. Too old to play but too young to fight. This was true, at least, according to her conventions. Conventions of another time, another life.

"It was bequeathed to me at birth by my mother," Ran provides, noting the slight flush on Ieyasu's cheeks. Her hand grazes over the omamori concealed inside her yukata, before returning to the mat.

He leans forward, the dryness of sake from his breath unmistakable. "Ii namae da…"

Besides treatment purposes, Ran has never been so close to a man, so when the Mikawa warrior reaches out a gloved hand, her breathing halts and voice dies. She concentrates on her white knuckles, reprimanding herself for a variable she should have foreseen. A knot forms in her stomach as primitive insurgents of self-preservation assail her stature of social propriety; one pleading to flee and another imploring to stay.

But Ieyasu-dono wasn't just a man, right? He was a man of justice, of peace, of rectitude; he was a good man. And Ran held on to that silver of truth as her eyes slammed shut to avoid his shroud of inebriation.

"…orchid suits you well", he murmurs, weaving a lock of her hair between his fingers. Her eyes snap open as he pulls away, the same benign profile on his face. He smiles. A wistful smile that she would normally laugh at, but this time leaves her speechless.

She is about to break the mounting silence when swift, calculated footsteps approach the chamber. The shoji slams open, signaling return of the Ishida general.

She breaks a muted sigh. Her insides untangle and with great irony, all seems right with the world.

"Okaerinasai, Mitsunari-dono," Ran immediately falls into a bow, "Ieyasu-dono has been awaiting your return."

If Mitsunari saw how scarlet her face was, he didn't show it as she swept past him to retire for the night. He did however, deem it necessary to deliver the ultimatum to Ieyasu after reports from his scout.

"Sakhalin has fallen. The alliance you seek is a waste of time. That Gamo rat will sooner meet his death by my hands than entertain your folly," Mitsunari eyes Ieyasu from across the room. He wasn't sure if it was Ieyasu's foggy eyes or slackened posture, but his rival seemed far too calm, even by conventional standards. Of course, had he been closer he would've seen the obvious inebriation painted over the Tokugawa heir's visage.

"I must try," the hand combatant replies, not trusting himself to speak any further, and Mitsunari swears the fool is a carbon-copy of a certain stubborn peasant.

"Hn, katte ni shiro," the odachi wielder mutters as he exits the room. "I will spare that Gamo rat no mercy."

After the sound of footsteps recedes, Ieyasu leans back on his arms with a sigh. It isn't that he tries to hide his vulnerabilities from his oldest comrade (ex-comrade according to Mitsunari); he just doesn't want to be exploited on account of them, especially not by a temperamental general who matched him in military prowess.

Ieyasu listens to the serenade of crickets, thinking how well the plan played out, considering how badly things could have actually been. Of course, this was discounting the sake, razed villages, immoral warlord, his questionable behavior and a headache awaiting him in the morning. A gloved hands reaches to scratch the back of his head.

"I guess I should have stayed away," he muses, before withdrawing to his chambers.

* * *

The tale shall continue- but I prayed for my rump. It expects little mercy.

Now you know Ran is not named after her non-existent athletic aptitude. hehe

Liberator of men's woes is THE cause of Ieyasu's problems!

This is Mitsunari x OC. Have faith.

_Foot notes: _

_umai= delicious_

_yakizakana= grilled fish (our skinny general strikes me as a fish guy :D)_

_Ii da yo = it's fine/okay/good_

_Ii namae da= it's a good name_


	8. Patience

Everyone's favorite grumpy general is back - with a vengeance for incompetent peons and a pathological lack of patience! Need I say more?

I do not own Sengoku Basara, only original characters. I write for meaning, not monetary gain.

* * *

**Ch 7 Patience**

* * *

Ran needed supplies. The last antidote she concocted depleted her personal inventory and she was not so artless to think her remaining materials can last another week. Tschiyo-san had been her first choice companion to venture into the adjacent village for said endeavor, but a poorly erected clothesline with fluttering laundry made the older woman indisposed. So imagine Ran's surprise when a certain general had volunteered.

"Don't be mistaken, I have matters of my own to attend," Mitsunari had said flatly in response to her gaping expression.

She ventured his matters must have been a priority because he had her follow him to the stables despite their destination being walking distance away. A heavy musk permeated the shed that housed its sole occupant with hay that clawed at the hem of her kimono. She had never seen a horse up close, let alone rode on one. Ran remembered the creature, sculpted by years of battle with sinewy flanks, ebony eyes and a smooth coat that glistened in the afternoon sun, whom had graced her entrance with a nonchalant snort. The resemblance was uncanny to say the least. Her features wrinkle. She preferred to walk but Mitsunari had squelched that idea before disappearing around a corner.

Fine. She exhaled. On horseback it shall be…

…so she decided to climb on the sable warhorse...

Without his permission…

Without his guidance….

Without her balance.

"Are you a moron?" the Ishida general had barked, a prelude to the ensuing remarks of scorn when he returned with saddle in tow.

Ran grimaces at the memory. In hindsight, she would've sustained grave injuries if not for Mitsunari's agility. In hindsight, she shouldn't have tried on her own, but it wasn't as if the arrogant general had plans to teach her. It was under these circumstances that she bowed her head under his wrath. The same circumstance had also stirred an unreadable expression in the Ishida general when both parties realized the ordeal had hitched Ran's yukata up to scandalous heights. She had gasped, scrambling to rectify her wardrobe dysfunction, and much to her relief by the time she was done he had already mounted his steed without so much as a sneer at her vulgarity.

But the horror continued shortly, when he had reached out to pull her on top of the mammoth creature. Determined not to make an obscene mess again, Ran had hauled herself up with matched vigor, but…

A sigh escapes her as the village gates near into view.

She had made it, but it was overdone, the momentum carrying her too fast and far for the other leg to follow. To make matters worse, Mitsunari had seized the opportunity to inquire how she'd like to sit while her extremities dangled from sides of the horse with air rent from diaphragm by the saddle.

"Up" she ventured weakly, blood rushing to her face that had nothing to do with hanging off the saddle. Ran also added that she had never been on a horse before. The confession sounded better in her head so it wasn't until it left her lips that she realized future attempts to salvage her self-respect were effectively sealed. Ah, surely then her dignity had been forfeit.

The testy general was clearly not pleased as he proceeded to seize her by the shoulders and whirl her upright and around with a strength that bordered violence. Ran had barely registered the string of muttered expletives when her vision returned upright and her seat shook.

"M-matte!" Her voice quivered. "Mitsunari-dono I need to sit-"

"You want to sit… in that?" he growled, a precursory glare at her outfit before returning to the road.

She was about to voice her dissent, but Mitsunari had beaten her to it.

"You'd do well to stay on. It will be a long road otherwise."

Her face is drained by the speed and the gravity of his words and before Ran could question his words, the turbulence takes a sharp hike. She is too preoccupied with grappling his overcoat to reach for the omamori nestled within folds of her yukata. The scenery had blurred with pounding hooves against the ground.

Kami…

To say she had been terrified is a severe understatement, but as they speed past the village gates, palpitations become a thing of the past as a frown bubbles beneath her mild features at the recent memory. Ran's gaze trails to the sleeves of her lilac yukata with silk trim. What did he mean by "that"? It isn't her usual doctor attire, but she figured a different piece would be appropriate for her first trip outside the Tokugawa residence. She did not think it flamboyant or inappropriate. Tschiyo-san had even said it was a bit mundane without any prints or embroidery so surely her insight held more weight than that of an arrogant, ill tempered, warring man. Did he expect her to wear devil armor and ride lightning horses like him?

Her eyebrows knit together, but they soften as the receiving stable comes into view.

Ran sighs, jumping off feet first after the long ride. The afternoon wind plays with strands of her hair that came undone. She absently rubs the painful crook in her arms as Mitsunari secures the reins to a post.

"Thank for bringing me here," she says, more out of propriety than gratitude.

If Mitsunari heard her words, he doesn't reply, which benefits her because the counter that they were meant for his horse instead is itching to slide off her tongue.

She waits until he retrieves his odachi to reach out for the horse's neck. The luster of its coarse appearance belies an impressive softness. Her other hand reaches out just as an uncouth chortle breaks through with a swing of the animal's neck. The motion sends her reeling, but her back connects to solid and she does not fall.

"Stop pestering him," Mitsunari glares, shoving her forward with his free hand before heading towards town.

She catches her balance before eyeing his steed again. Dark orbs meet her browns ones in a penetrating stare, before the owner tosses his head with a flippant swoosh of mane.

Ran hurries to catch up, because there is no persuading a steed that is one and the same as its master to kick the said man.

* * *

Mitsunari leads her to a wooden shanty, frayed by exposure, time and wrapped in shades of maple on the edge of town. The warm breeze drags along a thick, heavy odorous coal, but she continues.

"Mitsunari-dono, may I inquire-"

"You will know shortly," comes his terse reply as he swings the door open to reveal a dim interior and the bitterness of fire and metal.

Ran squints inside, and what she can make out is thanks to the roaring flame at the far end of the shack. She swallows at the sight of power hammers, anvils and various sharps strewn across stone counter tops. The razor pitch of metal cuts her breath in half, and she traces its origin to a drab figure hunched over a pool of water. There's a sizzling in the air and she tries to disguise the fact that it makes her skin crawl.

So this place…

The shanty occupant looks over his shoulder and Ran could just make out salt-and-peppered hair. "Back so soon, Sakichi?" The deep rumbling voice drawls as its owner raises the sharp before himself in scrutiny.

"Ah," Mitsunari states, rooted to the doorway.

"Unfortunately, I have more than my share of work for today. Come back for it tomorrow," the sword smith explained, returning to the cooled blade before him.

Mitsunari tosses a pouch onto a nearby countertop that clatters upon landing. The contents spill and roll on to the hay-strewn ground.

"Today, old man." Ran hears the grind of Mitsunari's gloves.

The elderly man turns to face the Ishida general. "You haven't changed a bit, Sakichi" he insists, hand slipping behind his back. "Always no manners when speaking to your elders."

To say Ran's eyes were the size of saucers when the sword smith unsheathed his blade is an understatement. The amount of people who drew against Mitsunari is numerous, but the number who lived to tell the tale, she surmised, must be few.

Lived?

She turns to the man at her side. Of course, if the sword smith was willing to fight, then….

Mitsunari grips his odachi, sliding the length of steel out of its scabbard.

"M-matte!" She clamps onto his scabbard and sword hand with her own tiny, trembling ones.

"This doesn't concern you" he spats at her, eyes ablaze and fixated on the elderly man. "Doke!"

Ran takes a deep breath, probably her last breath.

"Dame desu, Mitsunari-dono!" Her refusal rings louder than she expected and her knees almost buckle in absolution.

"What?" he demands, those very eyes angling down to hers. But Ran turns away because she knows her initial wind of rebuking him would only stoke his flame within. There had to be another way.

Her grip retains its strength as she meets the sword smith's eyes, weathered by age and tribulation. Eyes Ran knows well. Just like the Eyes that had taught her…

Her mouth runs dry as she summons the words from her pounding heart. "Please, there is no need for violence." The elderly man's gaze held her every word, but it also dictated a limit to them. She swallows, trying to find those few, measured words. "We can talk."

Ah, how feeble and hollow her words rang. Inwardly, her heart sinks. If only she had been smarter, more educated, more refined, more-

"Ii darou," comes the rumble deep in his throat as the weapon returns to its sheath. His eyes twinkle. "But I will only speak with you, ojo-san, not this vile ruffian."

Mitsunari shoots him a dirty look and before he can counter with an equally disdainful remark, Ran intervenes with her hallmark grin.

"Mitsunari-dono, this shop is quite arid. Might you wish to enjoy the breeze outside?"

"You-" His eyes fire a flurry of daggers her way, but it's useless. Emboldened by a glimmer of hope, she continues.

"I shall help you," Ran whispers with a discreet nod, smile unyielding. "Trust me. Go."

Mitsunari settles for a scowl before slamming his weapon shut just as the stubborn woman releases her grip. "Do what you want," he says under his breath before stalking outdoors.

* * *

If there was a difference between a moment and a minute, he would not know. As far his position is concerned, it's irrelevant because everyone waited for him; rarely is it the other way around. The only exception applied under the Toyotomi rule. His eyes trace the strong curves of maple trees in the distance, and the death-grip on his weapon loses the death-like quality.

In those days, he would wait days for Lord Hideyoshi's orders. He and his troops would be stationed in the mountains awaiting word of attack. The North was cold, he recalled- snow, sleet and rain, but he had waited for a purpose compared to today: a stubborn woman and her peace talks.

The sound of her plodding footsteps shakes him from his reverie.

"Masahide-san will repair your odachi, Mitsunari-dono," trying to catch her breath. "I was told to come back before we leave to retrieve it. Please allow me to bring your weapon inside." She holds her hands outstretched.

He hikes up an eyebrow and sneers. "As if you will-"

"Please, Mitsunari-dono. I have not failed you, have I?"

He brusquely reels away from her smile. It's too damn radiant for his liking and so is her stubborn logic.

"Drop it and you will regret," he glares in the horizon, tossing her the long sword.

Ran fumbles with the weight momentarily before securing it around her arms. "It shall not happen," she replies with a grin that earns her a scoff.

* * *

"Well?" Mitsunari eyes her, patience wearing thin as purchase for the last item of Ran's inventory drew to a close.

"Well…" she stalled from the countertop, awaiting for her supplies, "I bought 3 kin, but it sells 5 momme for 10 mon. I don't have any mon with me, only ryo. So that will be..."

She was going to figure this out before the clerk returns. She had to!

"The sun is setting…" he deadpans, attention towards the horizon.

Her eyebrows knit together. It's not like he knows! " one ryo is 60 mon. A kin is 160 momme-"

"Here you are ojo-san, 3 kin of reishi " the clerk returns, sliding the packaged mushrooms across the counter.

"A-arigato," Ran swallows, handing over 20 ryo. It should be enough, hopefully.

"Eh?" Her hand barely makes it over the counter when it seized by a black, gloved one.

"16." The Ishida general releases her and mutters an irritated "baka" before stalking outside the shop threshold.

"…it is…" she whispers as color drains from her face.

* * *

"Yokoso!"

Ran had resisted purchases since the last fiasco as she and the grumpy general strolled down town. Being upstaged is the last thing on her mind, and if that required turning a blind eye to beckoning shops and wares, then so be it. Generally she considers herself successful.

"Ojo-sama, we carry a plethora of designs and colors for this season and the next!"

Generally.

She struggled, but the magnetism of the local textile store with its vivacious clientele and luxurious products had pulled her in much to Mitsunari's dismay. Before she knew it, she was at the threshold with the ubiquitous greeting tossed her way.

"Welcome! Please have a look around!" A middle-aged woman, donning a silk kimono Ran would never have the money to buy, approached them with a sinking smile.

The young doctor wanted to say she sought a fabric for her winter kimono, but how could she when squeals fell to hushed whispers upon their entrance. The lady's smile flat-lines and her path towards them halts. Ran returns a weak smile and decides with grim chagrin that Mitsunari is no different without his sword for reasons she knows all too well.

Before silence ensues, Ran apologizes to the female clerk and ushers the samurai outdoors.

"What do you think you're doing?" he snaps when they stop a safe distance from the shop.

What did he think she was doing? Wasn't it obvious what HE was doing?

She sighed. "Mitsunari-dono, the ladies they…fear you. Perhaps you could be more…." Her mind swirls to find the right word that would preserve its container. "…approachable?"

"I did not ask them to be," came his miffed reply with crossed arms. "This concerns me not."

Rhetorical question, she decides. "You're right it does not," Ran concedes. Her gaze falls to another shop and a smile surfaces. "Perhaps you will allow me to properly apologize over tea?"

"Fine."

The first surprise of the day was acquiescing to accompany her to town. In the back of her mind, Ran supposed to it was Mitsunari's indirect way of repaying her for saving his life. Unlikely but possible, though probably the former since he didn't strike her as the type to return favors; not that she knew the ill-tempered general well enough to pass judgment. So imagine her second shock of the day when he silently slides the coins across the counter to the teashop lady.

"Iie Mitsunari-dono," she fumbles with her own change as he sits on a bench. "I have enough-"

"So you can overpay?" He snips at the recent wound.

Ran cringes just as a ball of fur pads over to them. Maybe it's not best to add salt, but curiosity was eating her insides. "Mitsunari-dono, how did you know the sum of my purchase from the store?"

She reaches down to ruffle the yapping, curly furball, but it evades her touch and scurries over to Mitsunari.

"Child's play," he scoffs, oblivious to the effervescent creature that was blithely weaving between his feet.

" I see," she feigns interest as her eyes track across to the merry banter.

"Leave me be," he says, dropping his gaze to passersby on the street, "go."

"But I cannot leave while-"

"Was that not your purpose in bringing me here?" He mocks with a smirk. He tells her leave to him in peace, and she thinks it's ironic with the yelping as his feet, but excuses herself back to the textile shop.

* * *

"Ran-dono, are you sure he won't be in need of anything?" The lady of the shop asks, inking measurements for the tailor.

"That won't be necessary," stealing a glance at the teashop, "he lives in armor."

Her answer ignites a string of giggles and even the older woman can't help but crack a smile.

"You know him so well, Ran-dono," the shopkeeper sighs, resting her chin on palms.

Warmth travels up her neck. "It is not what you think," she mutters with downcast eyes.

"Is that so…" the elder woman's eyes drift distantly, " and here I thought the two of you are close like Shiro and I. Ah, what joy to be young-"

"-I-I shall return soon for the kimono." Ran excuses herself before her skin tone changes. She hurries over to the bench, puzzled how people can talk about such things in broad daylight when she catches sight of the furball eating….off her plate.

"Mitsunari-dono it's-"

"About to finish if you idle any longer," he quips before taking a sip of his tea.

Ran slides the plate away and shoos it across the bench as she takes a seat on the edge. At least it isn't leftovers…

Her jaw battles with the sweet, starchy snack speared through bamboo while the snowball sits with panting breaths between the two of them. On her last stick, she absently reaches out to stroke its fur, only to have the creature pounce on to Mitsunari's lap.

The plate almost flies off her lap as the general shoots the tiny creature pawing at him the trademark glare.

"I should return to the shop," she forces a quick smile, snatching the furball away. Much to her dismay, it scrambles, barks and almost kicks out of her clutch. Mitsunari hikes an eyebrow at her wrestling with the frantic ball of energy. "I'll be back soon."

She whispers how fortunate the pup is to be alive after its reckless stint while crossing the fabric shop threshold.

"Ara?" The shop lady hurries to her from behind the counter. "Shiro? It is you Shiro-chan!"

Ran stopped short and performs a three-sixty.

"Shiro-chan…."

"There are you!" The older woman practically tears Ran's charge out of her arms with dewy eyes. "O-kasan wa shinpai desu yo!"

Ran forces an lopsided smile, not sure if she should be glad that the shopkeeper's "loved" one was found or offended that her relationship with the Ishida general was compared to that of a human and dog. She watches the lady coo and kiss a writhing, irritated "Shiro" and finds her insides turning; an imminent spell of nausea brewing.

"Perchance is my kimono ready?" She asks, not wanting to disturb the loving reunion, but not intending to turn green in the face.

"Ah, yes," her grip slips and the pup almost makes a run for the outdoors. She leaves the implacable animal with an assistant and returns with a mahogany box.

Ran strokes the fabric. "Thank you, it's perfect. May I ask how much is it?"

"Since Ran-dono found Shiro for me…" the clerk feigns a pause before breaking into a grin.

* * *

"Ten ryo," Ran announces with a triumphant grin, hefting her purchases under each arm.

"Your mind is too feeble to balance numbers," he sneers, ignoring her cumbersome state as they crunched through fallen maples on the dirt path.

"Iie, Mitsunari-dono," with a shake of her head, "that was a special price given to me by the owner." She cringed inwardly at the affectionate pair.

"For your flattery and lies, I presume?" He mocks with a knowing smirk.

"I found her dog," came her whisper, belying the indignant sting on her pride as they neared the derelict shanty. "No matter what needs to be said or done, people are more receptive to kind words and politeness."

She turns to him with eyes that catch an amber tint of the sun.

"Mitsunari-dono should try it some time."

Again, that small, radiant smile appears to defy all the barbarity and austerity of his military milieu, and the Ishida general could only counter with his trademark glare. The number of people who lectured him could form a line, but this diminutive, peon of girl was a hundred years too early to be on his line! His fists clench, but for a different reason as he approached the shanty door.

"Am I supposed to be like you?" He spats, electing a verbal reply because his odachi remains indisposed. "Shall I say things I neither think nor mean? Is that how you live?"

Her footing almost slips on the cobblestone at his outburst. She wanted to defend her claim, mollify his outrage and even apologize. But the sullen youth did not dignify her with a chance to reply as he tore open the door, ushering a gust of autumn inside the dank workplace.

Ran hurries over. If he didn't understand, then maybe her only choice is to prove to him wrong.

"I'm here for my sword, old man," Mitsunari announces to the figure hunched over the fire in tattered, dark robes.

The sound of crackling wood as the sword smith chucked more pieces into the burning furnace.

"Did you hear me, old man? I said-"

"Masahide-ojisan, tadaima!" Ran sidesteps Mitsunari and flounces over to the elder man with an air of joviality that the general finds absolutely repulsive.

The sword smith stops polishing the sword at hand and responds with gusto that Mitsunari finds just as disgusting. "Oh okaeri ojo-san! Here for the odachi, yes? It's ready." He gestures to the counter.

"Is that so? Thank you for the hard work!" Ran hands the weapon back to its owner. "Douzo."

Mitsunari snatches the sword from her and unsheathes it, scanning the steel surfaces for imperfection. The odachi whistles briefly when his arm arcs with practiced ease a few strokes in the air, and in a few seconds, it's over. The long piece of steel is slammed back into the shiny sheath.

"I did not ask to have the scabbard replaced," his solemn reply as Ran paled. After all her intrepid rapport and intervention, he was going to stoke the flames of aggression again?

"Ah, Masahide-ojisan! I would like to offer you a small token of our appreciation," she busied herself picking apart the package of mushroom.

If there was a fuming general and sliding of steel in the background, the sword smith didn't notice as he joined Ran over by the countertop to survey the goods. Ran plucked out a piece of wrapping paper from the package to place the largest mushrooms on it.

"They look quite tasty," he chuckled, sword in hand, selecting a particularly large one on the growing pile Ran created.

Whatever reply Ran had died in her throat as metal screeched and splintered the air. Sparks of heat volley her way, sending chills up her spine as she watches with bated breath, the sudden standoff between warrior and sword smith. User and maker. Eye to eye. Sword to sword. Each visage painted with unmatched conviction, as his weapon locks the other in a slow, arduous battle for dominance. She swallows hard but it doesn't prevent her knees from buckling.

"The scabbard was unnecessary," he growled, taking his stand.

"A good scabbard is always necessary," the older counterpart parried, holding his own.

"Mitsunari-dono," Ran pats the omamori on the inside folds of her yukata, her voice hardly a whisper. "P-Please stop."

"You'd do well to listen, Sakichi," Masahide added, maintaining his footing.

The odachi-wielder stole a glance at the curled figure with shiny eyes on the floor.

Inconceivable.

Had she never seen a fight between samurai? Granted, the old man was no samurai, but this was not mass murder or any horror liable to occur in the Sengoku Jidai. She wasn't involved either… so why was she cowering on the floor?

Mitsunari edged his foot forwards, biding to overpower Masahide's resistance. It worked wonderfully last time. Insidious, yet unstoppable; it could only succeed today as well.

Victory was close at hand when a sniffle reached his ears. He stole another glance. Was she being serious or feigning vulnerability? Immediately, Mitsunari regrets the split second glimpse as a smirk mirrored in the old man's eyes.

Damn it.

Mitsunari is no strategist, but even he knew there is more than one way to win a battle. A warrior is body and soul; thus he can be broken down by the same principle. The momentary amusement in the old man's eyes was all it took for the young general to realize the inherent defeat that no amount of his might or skill could change. But he wasn't about to concede defeat. His pride forbids it.

The sword smith noticed his plight and chuckled before retreating to disengage swords with an agility that debunked his advanced age. "I, Masahide, shall not bring tears to a lady's eyes," he states, re-sheathing his weapon and finding that the young general had already done the same.

Mitsunari scowls before turning to Ran, whom cringes under his stare.

"We're leaving," he snaps, and turns on his heels. "Get up. Now, least I leave you here."

With the help of the countertop, Ran pulls herself up. "I apologize for his behavior Masahide-dono." She straightens her yukata and bows.

"You are apologizing on his behalf?" He mulls, stroking his beard.

"Of course, for you to have done so much work and he repays you with aggression, I must apologize-"

A wave of his hand. "Ojo-san," he says with a smile, "that was not aggression."

She blinks. "Eh?"

"You have yet to see Sakichi's true nature as a warrior," a chuckle rumbling in his chest, "but I suppose one day you will."

She bit her lip. "Masahide-dono, is it wrong of me to hope that day never comes?"

The old man remains silent as he shuffles over to the counter by Ran. "One day, the warriors of this land will have to lay down their swords. Wars will draw to an end, and the way of the samurai will become obsolete." He mounts his weapon on a wooden stand, running his gnarled, calloused fingers along the lacquered sheath with a distant gaze.

"This truth, I thought, Sakichi will never come to realize," he turns to her with a wizened smile. "But with you, he has hope."

"I am flattered by your words, Masahide-dono," she replies with downcast eyes, "but the wisest person to teach him this is you, sir, not I."

He nods with a grin. "Ojo-san, from the day he first asked me fashion him a bokken until now, Sakichi has not heeded my teachings. As you can see from his manners."

"Is that so? But surely, Mitsunari-dono will not heed my words, I am but-"

The sword smith raises a staying hand, and Ran vaguely wonders if all elderly men talk with their hands and fists.

"I did not end the fight, ojo-san, that rascal **allowed **it to end. Sakichi does not miss counter-attacks. Neither has he permitted a fight to end at anyone's behest."

He smiles at her, a kindly smile that matches her's in warmth.

"A sword is only as strong as its scabbard. You hold more sway over him than you think," he says with a wink that colors her a deep crimson.

* * *

"How long did you intend for me to wait?" He demands of the hunched figure with heaving shoulders.

Her lungs burn and her voice protests when she ekes out an apology, but the problem is in her arms. Carrying her purchases down the darkening cobblestone path in a mad dash was too much to ask. Ran grimly wondered how she was going to carry the load back to the stables. It was too much to do and when the packages and lacquered box threaten to slide on to the floor Mitsunari surprises her for the third time by snatching the said objects out of her clutch.

"So you don't soil goods you wasted my time buying today," he snaps at her gaping expression, as if there was a prerequisite to helping others. He stalks ahead with odachi in the other arm, leaving Ran with a smile in the dusky, autumn breeze.

She is about to thank him openly for his kindness when the threat to leave her in town reaches her ears. Ran makes run for it down the maple-covered path, musing over how much "sway" she truly held over one of the most powerful generals in Japan.

* * *

Matte= wait

Doke= out of the way!

dame desu= it's bad (indicates refusal)

ii darou= it's fine/good/ok

ojo-san=Miss/ young lady

yokoso= welcome

O-kasan wa shinpai desu yo=mom was worried!

Jidai= era

Bokken= wooden sword

Kin/momme/mon/ryo= units of mass/currency

* * *

This chapter took 3 days to write. Hope it was as enjoyable for everyone to read as it was for me to write. =]

I've been sketching Ran and Mitsunari out but on account of my non-existent artistry I'm afraid the image panel won't be of much use at the moment. I apologize but any expression of creativity outside of literary diction is not my forte.


	9. Faith

**Ch 8**

She was achy. Maybe achy wasn't the right word as she placed one leg in front of the other, breath coiling in the air. No, achy is an understatement. Her legs were on fire.

Twenty paces above Mitsunari halts. "I had thought you wanted to be here," he throws over his shoulder.

Indeed she had. But it had been Tschiyo-san who insisted she be accompanied. The older woman cautioned that these were not times for a woman to be traveling by herself, especially with civil unrest brewing in the north.

"Ah- Sakichi! Might you accompany Ran-dono?"

The older woman's request had seemed so benign, but to say Ran's blood froze at inoculate remark was nothing short of an exaggeration as she awaited the onslaught of his verbal lashings.

"…ii darou."

Ran adjusts the lacquered container hanging by the crook of her elbow. "Yes, I do wish to be here, Mitsunari-dono," though her voice rings as hollow and dry as the surrounding maples.

"Then make haste." He continues with his strides, calculated and measured despite the frosted steps.

She had been speechless then towards his reply. But of course, in all the months of knowing him, Ran should have suspected that it had been neither the benevolence nor magnanimity epitomizing warriors of his trade that spurred such odd acquiescence.

"…returning the debt," he had told her later that evening, concerning a recent affair with a certain sword smith that would have otherwise escalated to a grudging debacle.

An upturn of her lips that dies as soon as her feet remobilize. Ran pans upwards to the gray steps painted splotches of white and brown. Her knees complain against the pressure and repetition. She mildly muses about changing her prayer after completing the climb to include exercise tolerance for the new year before pushing on.

Mitsunari is about the throw a glance backwards when his periphery catches sight of her. He prefers hobble, but it's more of a frenzied stagger from the stubborn woman that surpasses him as the summit grows closer and closer.

She calls out to him bright eyes at the top of the stairs. "Mitsunari-dono, hurry!" An animated wave attached to heaving shoulders as he resumes his pace.

"This is it?" the Ishida general scoffs as the summit levels before him on the last few steps.

"There is more to see inside the temple," Ran adds with a grin in the backdrop of a bell toll, "I'm going to offer a prayer, would you like to join me?"

"Suit your yourself," he replies with crossed arms against the entrance gates.

* * *

Incessant chatter from a group of young ladies by the shrine stirs her curiosity as Ran reaches for a drink from the site's fountain. Fits of giggles and gossip she is apt to ignore, but…

"That man by the gates, he is handsome, no?" A hush whisper.

"And tall!" Another quips.

"I wonder what he is doing here?" A dreamy sigh.

"A sword…he must be a samurai! Ara, he must be so refined, calm and loyal to be escorting his master here, maybe even...princess!" A gasp.

"AWK!" Her hands fly to her chest as fluid enters the wrong pipe.

The group of females cast her a glance before Ran clears her throat. "Pardon me," she mutters, before scurrying away, unsure whether she would die from humiliation or laughter.

Had she hear right?

Samurai, yes, but Master? Princess? She shakes her head, lucky to qualify as a servant by the grumpy general's standards. Had he not called her a stubborn woman amongst other names in the past? Surely even servants were treated better.

Loyal, yes, but refined? Calm? Kami! Her lips curl at the irony, and laughter threatens to erupt from her insides. Yet, in the midst of all things farfetched, impossible, and downright untrue, Ran recollects another key word as Mitsunari crosses his arms at the entrance gates.

The Ishida general looked every bit out of his element with the purple and whites of his attire clashing with the red Torii gates that he leaned against in the backdrop of tolling bells, burning incense and spirited banter. Encased in metal, his stature, shoulders and limbs, stand unfazed in the cold, as if daring the weather to continue its frosty assault. Silver bangs veil a dispassionate gaze, and it isn't until the young samurai almost looks her way that Ran tears away with a speed unimaginable to conceal the warmth invading her features.

Ridiculous. That's what Mitsunari thought of this foolish excursion to the middle of nowhere during the coldest month of the year for virtually no concrete reason. To make matters worse, the mundane prattling from a group of females nearby peaks to vexatious proportions as another bell drones distantly. Crossing his arms again, he silently broods over how foolish people are to have ineffectual, superstitious principles influence their lives.

A sneers escapes him. Bells, charms and whistles did not win wars. Strategy, courage and resources did. Temples do not protect one's domain, castles do. A scowl mars his features as something foul catches in the air, prompting him to turn left, with edges of his bangs playing against the wind, just in time to catch his charge scampering away to frequent the business of temple vendors. He's about to mutter one of his trademark comments when a female civilian approaches him.

"Ano…" A female. Red-haired, in a thin, fluttering kimono he finds odd, stutters. She had deviated from her group of comrades by the shrine. The same group that squealed with laughter every moment he crossed and uncrossed his arms.

He tosses his odachi to the opposite hand with a deadpan expression.

"What?"

* * *

"Mitsunari-dono, might you want to offer a prayer?" Ran asks, picking her way through the snow over to him.

"A prayer…?" The word sounds foreign with his voice as they start their descent with the temple receding from view in the horizon

"A prayer for victory, strength, courage, things of that nature I suppose," she replies with that irritating smile again. "I prayed for health and peace."

"Hn, do not mock me. Such things require no prayer."

* * *

At first she was within arm's length behind Mitsunari, but halfway home the treacherous trail, barbaric brushes, slippery slopes and frigid temperatures slipped her several paces behind the Ishida general. On several occasions, he would throw her a precursory glance, reminding her to catch up, but by the time they reached the Sendai river, less 4 kilometers from the Tokugawa residence, it became impossible. Not only could Ran not catch up, but dropping temperatures practically froze her joints.

"We rest here," he said, arriving at the shallow riverbank, as if expecting her request to make a pit stop.

She makes her way over to the trees, dense vegetation wrapped in frost that provides some overhead cover, should it begin to snow. The lacquered basket comes off her elbow and she is about to offer its contents when-

"Mitsunari-dono, where are you going?" Her voice strung with trepidation. She clambers out of the natural alcove.

"To scout landmarks," came his curt reply, as if it were the most self-explanatory task in the world.

"Please I'll-"

"The trail will soon become difficult, it's best to know the way in advance," he elaborates, staring into the sinking horizon, "I shall not be far. Stay here."

Without another word Mitsunari sprints down the path, swallowed by the foliage and the grey skies, leaving her alone by the shale riverbank. Aside from the soft rippling, all is silent.

"He will be back soon," she tells no one in particular, shuffling towards the water to wash her hand. A quick survey of the river leads her to a plateau of shale extending from the bank that lies perched above rapids. The water is freezing as Ran extends a soiled hand in, but she has no intention of eating dirt. Her nostrils wrinkle at an evanescent odor, and Ran supposed all rivers have an inherent quirk to them. Her hands begin to rub vigorously, becoming entangled in seaweed as she regards the wilderness.

There's a damp, miniature oxbow on the opposite riverside, made barren by the harsh winter. Something grew there, and in her optimism she hoped it would be a fresh batch of irises in the spring.

Satisfied, Ran withdraws her hands, untangling the seaweed. She notes the seaweed is dark, very dark. Strange, but it doesn't stop her from pulling to extricate her fingers. A firm tug of the strands, followed by a gasp.

What she thought entrapped her hand is more complex than seaweed.

What she thought initially an elusive odor

...makes sense.

* * *

Hi there,

Decided on a short piece. Feels good to be back! Hope it was alright. For the longest time I had writer's block as rooted as the Tree of Souls (get reference? lol) but I went back, revisited Toni Morrison's works and found inspiration I wish to share with all writers:

_"If there's_ a book _you_ really _want to read_ but it hasn't been written yet, then _you_ must write it"

So back I am to stay for good, because I want to read the story as much as the next person. =)

yours truly,

Gravism


	10. Mercy

Ch 9: Mercy

* * *

It's been a while. Hope you are all safely indoors and riding out this storm!

I found my first job EVER and there's been a lot of pressure from others who doubt I can do what I do at such a young age. Haters. Lol. But I'm off today so the story continues! ^_^

If y'all thought Mitsunari was mean then- he's about to get meaner now. Be warned. It's the price he pays for power.

* * *

It happened too fast. One moment, her soul is pierced by festered eyes of one rent asunder from this world, and another, she falls deaf to an ear-splitting scream that has the Ishida general sprinting back.

She's blind to his darting into the waters and dashing the corpse far from her person.

Numbness is all she feels to his efforts to get her to look at him, to stand.

"He's dead! Listen to me- do not. DO NOT breathe like that!" The Ishida general barks over the pounding of his heart and her screams, but to no avail.

A vigorous shakedown does nothing for short bursts of her tachypneic vocal abuse.

"Stop this instant!"

The movement of his palm as it threatens to arc across her pallid expression doesn't even register.

The screams…

The cries…

The struggle…

Somewhere in the Ishida general's combat paradigm is a protocol treatment befitting men who fall victim to fear, stupor, shock. If everything did not fall to deaf ears, Ran might have heard her rattled breathing and Mitsunari's vulgarities under his own breath. A frustrated utterance rumbling in his chest as his palm falls to her hair.

He would never admit it, but alas there is no denying

…

this is no battlefield

…

she is no soldier.

If not for her catatonia, Ran might even witness a quality only a handful of warlords in her time are capable of as his hand gradually it eludes her, even when his traitorous hand strays its course to stroke her hair.

His throat clears. "…it is fine," he mutters, her screams melting into sporadic sobs, "cry if you wish."

He clears his throat once more- this time, to erase the foreign remark. His hand betrays him to run its rouge course again, reducing sobs to whimpers. Heart rate returns to baseline in the backdrop of ebbing waters and crispy cold, but he's certain it isn't hers. Her breaths fall and he loosens his grip expectantly when his charge becomes a sudden deadweight in his arms.

The moment becomes a small eternity and the world slips into a deafening silence; save for an obscenity that snips the air.

"Che."

* * *

The air, it was suffocating, as loops of smoke corkscrewed into the air.

She was on the ground; the thick, iron of gunpowder invading her nostrils. The world drawn perpendicular to her vision.

A tall figure enters her central vision, barking orders she swears are nothing but slurs. Red flashes blossom distantly against the grey skies as more movement tracks hazily across her retina.

Something sudden, like a clap of thunder pierces her eardrums, shoots through her nerves and rumbles deeply in her chest. Her breathing arrests, but it isn't the sound so much as the hazy figure in the distance kneeling on a puddle of crimson as the world grinds to an abysmal halt.

No

…

This couldn't be

…

A deep gasp as Ran ricochets from slumber.

She pans around, noting panels of wood and hay strewn out on the concrete floors.

It had been a dream, albeit a bad one.

A sigh escapes her as she continues to survey the area. Opposite where she slept, a crackling fire dried her beige furisode on an antiquated tsuitate with-

Her eyes dilate, arms flying to her chest, clawing at the covers over her thin inner kimono layer. But it's not a cover, at least not in the strictest sense…

She wanders down as her fingers catch hold of the purple silk, embroidered with white, floral motifs. Ran never figured the pupils on her eyes could expand any further, but they did. Her hands twist around her collar.

Did he…

A deep scarlet claws at her neck before she scans the abandoned chamber again, noting the ceremonial bell on loops of rope attached to the ceiling. This was a house, maybe a shrine? It seemed plausible given where they had stopped.

Stopped? Ah, yes, her mind catches up to speed as the image of rotting flesh and empty eyes met her between ripples of snow water. A shudder resonates down her spine. It had been too late when control fled her body, and she surmised some time must have passed as moonlight streams in from an open doorway just beyond the fire where her belongings were placed.

Her feet feel oddly cold as they carried her outside. Fingers grip silky fabric in her hands as she approached the Ishida general, perched on the descending stairs. A flurry of frost blasted their way and she concedes it's no surprise why her feet had felt so cold. But the cold spiraling from the heavens did little to faze the young samurai despite his seat on the steps in nothing but armor. His steel orbs started fixedly at the full moon, as he maintained his unflinching posture.

"Mitsunari-dono," her voice enfeebled by the day's activity squeaked out.

No answer.

Ignoring the slight, she walks up to him. "I am most grateful for-"

"You may show your gratitude by being more cautious in the future," he snaps with a half turn of his head.

"…moushiwake arimasen deshita," Ran mumurs, hanging her head, and her apology is so soft she wonders if he heard.

He pivots his head back to the skies.

Silence.

"…you must be cold," her hands fumbling with the silk overcoat as she swallows her pride, "here, your-"

"There is no need," comes his miffed reply, eyes unflinchingly affixed to the full moon. "Leave me. Go."

A frown mars her countenance. Winter claws deep into the crevices of her thin garment.

"But it's so-"

Slight turn of his head. "Did you not hear? Leave!" he snapped.

Ran clenches on to his overcoat, lower lip upturned. A sharp inhale.

"No," she replies firmly, though it probably echoes through the hollow woods no more than a whisper.

" . ?" The gunmetal glare of his eyes challenges her soft, brown orbs.

There's a shiver racing up her spine screaming self-preservation, but she persists. "I-I cannot comply. If Mitsunari-dono falls ill on account of me, the men of the Ishida army will suffer."

There's barely enough time for her swallow the lump in her throat. "I shall remain here with you."

Her fingers sting as they brush away snow on the steps, but her bottom is promptly spared a similar fate when Mitsunari sneers. There's a string of muttered words but she only makes out "stubborn" when the Ishida general treks by.

A grin appears for a victory however small, and she sighs a breath of relief, shuffling after the disgruntled samurai into the enveloping warmth.

She places his folded overcoat by his side before taking her seat opposite him by the hearth.

"Ah, sou desu," Ran recalls, reaching for the lacquered basket, "douzo." She shuffles closer, extending the offer of onigiri, but Mitsunari averts her gaze. Ran draws a blank as the Ishida general cranes his neck away.

A silent gasp escapes her lips.

The familiar shade of crimson invading her fair countenance sends her scrambling for her kimono. The collar is packed tight against her neck before returning to the hearth to salvage what dignity is left after her indecent debacle.

She mouths a formal apology, praying the hearth's auburn glow would disguise her blush. Completing the bow, Ran makes out a grunt of approval while Mitsunari's silver gaze, sharp and clear, remains fixated on the crackling flames. A cursory glance of missing onigiri curves the corners of her lips. Secretly, she wonders if all warriors were as fast as the one before her.

The onigiri is cold, but it will do. She makes short work of the first one to remedy the gnawing hunger, but hesitates on the second. Another glance at the static male- nothing. She sighs inwardly.

"I...I grew up in a village on the Western bank of the Sendai river," Ran blurted out, not sure why she was telling him this, but it was better than the crushing silence.

The suffocating silence ensues- her cue to continue.

"It was a small village, a peaceful one," finding her voice, "we didn't have much, but everyone was happy."

Memories of the warm sun, laughter, a gentle breeze that could lull one to sleep.

She had been happy.

A voice so sweet, it serenaded and swayed a sea of purple….

"My mother used to plant Irises. A whole field of them, and she said they deserved extra care for having the courage to grow in a world of difficulties."

The ends of her mouth curl.

"And for the next few days, I remember I used to feel them in my hand fluttering against the wind."

Her lips fell back into a line. Like irises, all that live will someday come to past. A howling wind sweeps by outside, infiltrating cracks in the derelict temple.

"One day, I returned from my studies, and the village elder told me…" she held her tongue, "…I…I never understood how my mother left this world so abruptly."

The smell of damp earth against gray skies. A concrete cold made sharper by falling rain on stone.

A deep breath as hands fisted sleeves of her kimono.

"But the elders took care of me," forcing a smile. "I continued my schooling."

The fire crackled, and she maneuvered another piece of wood into the hearth to combat the cold.

"I studied medicine there until Sensei told me to travel over to the eastern front and tend to the injured." She paused. "But I've never seen a soldier until the day I met Mitsunari-dono and the army. I have never seen a body, like the one today…" Her arms wrapped around knees, shivers racing up her spine.

Mitsunari spares a furtive glance when her eyes close.

Never had she seen so much blood, such high caliber of unadulterated violence. The extent of injuries Ran treated were a far cry from her humble texts, and even more so, the ones she could not save from death's grasp served as a reminder the ugliness of war. A scourge of civilization, forged by greed and hate, and refined by ingenuity of man that threatened to destroy its very creator.

"War is not for the weak," came his curt reply.

She glances over, noting Mitsunari's sharp silvers that remain fixated on the glow before them. His form- one knee up with o-dachi cradled between sinews of his neck and shoulder- is still, poised and perfect; a product of his military milieu.

But it hadn't always been this way. It could not. Surely, in the past, however long ago, he had been wild, reckless and maybe even…

Her soft gaze against the amber glow as corners of her lips lifted.

…untroubled.

"_Sakichi arrived in my care, tall and thin, but to remember those days… such a long time ago. That child would always accompany me to the market to confront vendors of foul play with my money. That boy is quick to learn, but he is different. Sakichi was quiet, he never played with other boys in the castle, and not once did he misbehave." _

Ran sighs inwardly. She supposed some individuals are innately serious and precocious. A grimace.

"_That one time. The castle guards who approached me angered Sakichi. It happens all the time, a man accosting the lady of his interest, but little did I know that Sakichi would confront them. I received a summons from the Castle's Captain of the Guards concerning the matter. Later that night, I found Sakichi washing his injuries." _

Knuckles fist kimono fabric underneath her sleeves. It had been an unfair fight- at least two men against one child! Her eyes trail back to him, heart palpitating in memory of the conversation with the older woman.

"_Ara, you misunderstand. After I scolded him, Sakichi handed me bandages for the men. He confessed they would need it more than him."_

A ghost of a smile cast over corners of her lips. Ah, she supposed some things never truly change, but there had to be some vestiges of youth sacrificed to develop this paragon of war stationed before her.

"_The summons was to inform me of Sakichi's training initiation. They said a boy who could best four of his soldiers was not to be wasted on civic court duties. That day was the last day he accompanied me to town. He was only 14 when charged with leading the platoon of the very men he had confronted prior. From then on, he lead campaigns. His men began to think him invincible, even a demon, but alas…"_

The forlorn gaze of eyes wrinkled by trial and time, resurfacing from her memories. Eyes that have seen war from the likes of which Ran could have never imagined.

"…_Sakichi paid the price of power in blood and fire. He was born with the brave blood and noble spirit of a samurai, but to think the times called on him to become one. Such a loss for a boy of his talent and intelligence. All that would not have been, if not for war."_

The howling wind clawing its way indoors through cracks between doors, whistling through the corridors.

"War is a waste of youth," she counters, straightening her posture.

The silvers of eyes confront her soft ones. She could-no, should look away. But his gaze locked on to hers with such confrontational intensity. There was no room to doubt. No time to distance herself from a claim he demanded she explain.

"If there was no war, the young need not die and the elderly be spared their tears. I have wondered why there IS war." She breathed deep.

"Mitsunari-dono, have you imagined a life WITHOUT one?"

A cold sneer as his eyes break away.

"You know nothing of this world. Wars are fought so Japan can become a stronger nation. War exists so the weak like you can live on about your complacent lives. Do not speak as if you understand, peasant," he spats with such venom it leaves her mouth bitter.

Her brow furrows, her mind flooded with images of those lost to a cause they probably never understood or fully believed.

"War is a terrible misuse of life! Have you never dreamed of peace? What would be if not for-"

"What would be is a lie!"

She winces at the thunder of his voice.

"How dare you rebuke me with dreams- delusional falsities meant to ease your suffering! This nation will fall to ruins under your pretentious notions. War can only be won by the strong and merciless, not the weak and their pansy dreams."

Her gaze falls to her fisted hands. "Teachings of your late Lord?"

The crackling of wood under fire. "Hn, and if so?"

Ran exhales nasally. "It is true I cannot fight as you do. I will never be one to hold a sword. I fear war. I fear violence, destruction and death. I am…weak." She blinks furiously to combat the pain welling up inside, her voice dropping low on volume and high with conviction.

"But war will NOT be won by the strong and merciless, but by the strong and merciful. Only then will it end."

A deep swallow. "Mitsunari-dono, please forgive my insolence. It is as you say, I know little of this world."

She folds her hands together before herself, bowing low- not daring to meet his eyes.

"The night draws late. With your permission, I wish to retire."

He grunts an approval to her relief and she excuses herself immediately, more to shield her face than to escape his penetrating glare.

It isn't until she retreats to her bed of hay that the tears fall, and the strangest thing- she knew not why. Maybe it is out of pity for the young man within paces of her who's once pristine values of justice and moral rectitude were being martyred to cynicism and obsession. Or perhaps that she'd never thought to see the innocence of youth murdered by a life of violence and power. That is the price, no?

But the pain, it's real and it haunts her sleepless mind

…

It was the pain from knowing that there was nothing she could do to save the young man who had saved her life

…

twice

…

from himself.

* * *

tsuitate- japanese screen, wooden, short and square in stature

moshiwake arimasen deshita- fancy apology term for "I am sorry"

* * *

I'm conflicted whether to center or left align my words. What do you think? What seems to be easier on the eyes?

This chapter took me forever to carve out. Future chapters ought to be easier! :3

PM if you 've any questions.

Truly yours,

Gravism


	11. Nostalgia

BAM! I'm back- two holidays later haha- sorry! ^_^'

**_Author's note:_**

Call it repetitive, but I wanted to write a story that did not yet exist and I had wanted to read so dearly. Never did I think people would read it, and stupefied when I discovered people reviewed it. Positively at that! Thank you for your support. It renewed my motivation when I developed writer's block (writing constipation) over the last few months. I felt so satisfied cranking out this chapter and I sincerely hope all of you enjoy it as much I did writing it.

Yours truly,

Gravism

Pay attention to details this chapter. Here we go :)

* * *

_**Ch 10**_

"Ara, Ran-dono! Sakichi!" The elder woman shuffles down the corridors, her breath tracing behind in puffs.

She didn't know what to make of Tschiyo's mothering when they arrived back at the compound, but then again growing up under care of village orderlies she wouldn't.

"I am well, Tschiyo-san," the younger woman assures the senior attendant, whom busies herself examining for scratches and bruises.

"Sakichi took care of you?" she eyes, palming both cheeks, and Ran could only nod to avoid further questioning, hoping to skirt a prior incident.

She is grateful for Tschiyo's hands on her reddening cheeks as the samurai stalked by obliviously. "We waited out the snow last night at an abandoned temple-"

"You must forgive that boy of mine," Tschiyo went on as if the younger woman had never spoke. Smoothing out Ran's sleeves and adjusting her collar, "he has no delicacy towards women so please forgive him. Something the military overlooked and he neglected to learn. But worry not."

She meets Ran's eyes with seriousness reminiscent of her sensei. "This will not affect your future prospects, Ran-dono," her voice heavy with implication.

Oh.

Her voice catches in her throat as familiar warmth spirals up her neck. It wasn't like anything had happened! She isn't even worried, but the sudden confrontation…

"Mitsunari-dono, is an honorable man," she chokes out, heart hammering within as her gaze falls to the ground and her hands fight from knotting together.

"He is," she adds for emphasis, more for herself than for the older woman who receives her reply with a soft, knowing smile.

* * *

Mitsunari trails down the corridors towards the main chambers. A slew of attendants parting ways for his passage in synchronized greeting, but he brushes by without so much as a glance. His heels spin around a tight corner, pace accelerating in anticipation.

He is here, Mitsunari knows.

The former ally…

The combatant…

Echo of footsteps.

The friend…

The confidant…

Amicable chatter growing louder.

The only surviving individual who knew of his late Lord Hideyoshi is here.

His hand swings open the bamboo doors.

"Mitsunari, you're here on time," the yellow-clad warrior grins from his seat on the tatami.

The Ishida general doesn't so much as register Ieyasu's words because next to him on the floor…

"Yo," the traveler quips, holding a sake cup in greeting, "Mitsunari-kun, how have you been?"

Maeda Keiji.

Mitsunari remembered him well from the Battle of Sekigahara. Not even in death would he forget.

_"Someday, I would like you to tell me stories of the Lord Hideyoshi that I did not know."_

"You are here," the Ishida general shuts the bamboo doors with finality.

"Care to join us, Mitsunari-kun?" Keiji gestured to a third seat.

The general of the Ishida army was conflicted. The calculated paces of his footsteps no longer swift and concise. His young, pale features marred by a scowl.

"_Lord Hideyoshi and I hailed from the same village."_

Hn. It was not so farfetched of Maeda Keiji having similar roots with Lord Hideyoshi. But…

"_He and I grow up protecting the village from bandits. The villagers looked to us to keep them safe. All went well until one day a man arrived. He was a dangerous man. I will never forget. We decided to test our strength, but were brutally overpowered by his might."_

The frequency of his steps drop. Overpowered? His late Lord? Ridiculous. No such thing. How could Keiji possibly expect him to believe such blasphemy? Absolutely not.

"_From then on, Hideyoshi vowed to become stronger. He claimed one could not possess weakness in his pursuit of strength and so…"_

He had not understood why the rogue hesitated; especially since what he said Lord Hideyoshi believed in was completely true.

"…_he rid himself of all vulnerabilities. He vowed one day, this nation would be united under his guidance and a new era will be ushered in for -"_

Tch. He hadn't stayed for the rest of Maeda Keiji's babble. The former had offended him enough for the day with his silly lies of Lord Hideyoshi. Surely, his inimitable Lord could never have been so…

Weak. Vulnerable.

Mitsunari grimaced. Hell will freeze over before such words are used in the same sentence as his Lord. The very idea is inconceivable.

But why would Maeda Keiji lie? He is without a doubt, a close comrade of Lord Hideyoshi. Possibly not as close as Hanbei-sama had been, but considered more knowledgeable of Hideyoshi-sama than others. He had volunteered to tell Mitsunari of the Lord that he did not know.

Maybe conflicted isn't the correct term…

He mutters under his breath, turning the corner only to have someone who dares collide into him.

A squeak of surprise followed by a thud and clattering of tea cups.

"Mitsunari-dono! I-I was told by Tschiyo-san," she stops herself, bowing apologetically, "forgive me."

He watched as she fell on her knees to retrieve her items.

"This," she rises with a small paper bundle in hand eyes wide from the fragrant scent, "is yours, Mitsunari-dono?"

The white-haired youth eyes the object, semi-wrapped in rice paper.

Ah, yes- the package given to him by a red-haired, sycophantic female at the temple. He had questioned her motives, but it took all of the female's persistent squalling to have him concede. The package had been a nuisance, and even more so with its offensive odor.

"The scent of lavender," Ran comments with a small smile, handing it over "is most coveted in the Eastern lands." She neglected to tell him that she too, had sought to purchase the same item but lacked the funds.

"Take it," comes his curt reply as he saunters past.

Eyes the size of saucers. "Mitsunari-dono?" She turns to meet his back.

A half turn of his head. "Did you not hear? It is yours."

The endowment, however unintentional, paints her a faint, pink hue. Footsteps of the Ishida general become distant echoes, but little does it do to quell her drumming chest. She pockets it in the folds of her kimono and gathers her belongings down the corridor, unable to control her glee.

So lost in her happiness that she fails to see the second approaching figure.

Again, the clatter of tea cups! But this time, the person obstructing her is shorter with a heavier build. The impact has her reeling on to her bottom and as she struggles upright, a screech besieges her.

"Yumekichi, be nice. Ah…ojo-san," he bends down to offer her a hand, "are you alright?"

At first glance she thought she saw a monkey. Monkey? Then when her vision clears, she realizes her error. It's a monkey on a man- a flamboyantly dressed man with a concerned expression.

If not for her inherent self-control she would have laughed at the man with a feather protruding from his head, traveling with a monkey. A kabuki performer? Unlikely she decided, from the weapon that he carried on his back- a great sword that towered over her. The world was indeed a big place as Sensei had said.

"Please, forgive my clumsiness," Ran looked up to meet his eyes, which grounded to a halt for reasons she knew not why. In that moment, she felt awkward, but for Maeda Keiji, the spare moment played a long, silent eternity.

"You-" he stuttered, strange for a man usually so confident with words in the company of females.

"My name is Ran," she immediately supplied with a cursory bow, inwardly chiding herself of forgoing manners, "I am the healer here under Ieyasu-dono's service."

Something like a spell broke the burly man from his trance, and he promptly collected her ceramics off the ground without so much as a reply. Afterwards, he righted himself and stood at full height- which Ran realized was as tall, if not taller than Mitsunari-dono.

"Maeda Keiji," he introduces himself, scratching the back of his head, "hajimemashite, Ran-dono."

"Maeda-dono, is it? A pleasure to meet you. Please pardon my clumsiness." She inclines her head with a voice so smooth, it reminds him of the distant past.

His mouth opens but no words exit until he forces his throat to clear. "It was nothing. You are not hurt, I hope?"

Ran shakes her head, tendrils of dark hair escaping to frame her face against the horizon's rays. She bids him a good day before giving him a smile that clenches his heart with nostalgia.

He allows her passage and says not a word despite Yumekichi's incessant squeals until she is far from earshot.

"I know, Yumekichi," he murmurs, pacifying his companion with strokes on the head as he stares out into frigid, barren fields overlying the Ieyasu domain.

He utters something, barely above a whisper, more to remind himself than for another to hear.

One word

…

lost to the wintry gale and fading horizon.

"Nene."

* * *

Shocked? Sucked? Stupid?

I agree, but remain vigilant. Update pending!


	12. Deceit

Back, haha. *dodges projectiles* I went away for vacation and recently celebrated my birthday- not valid reasons for absence but explanations for those who thought me dead. Haha. I am alive and well.

I'm thinking of another piece in the near future- please take the poll to help me out. Thanks!

* * *

Chapter 12: Deceit

* * *

Ran rubbed her eyes for the fifth time, her other hand suspending brush over paper. After a few words, she sighs before mashing the draft over to join its predecessors in a nearby pile.

She had to finish this tonight. It's been far too long since she wrote to him.

_Sensei, I have been well…_

A frustrated groan followed by crunched parchment. How bland and ineloquent- was she lost for words? She laid the brush down, hands under her chin, gazing at the swirls of incense on her desk as they coil into the air.

It may be just a letter, but for some reason the meager focus required to pen such a simple document eluded her. Again, palms rubbing the hollows of her eyes, this time accompanied with a yawn and she could practically taste the rich, smooth, imported lavender. Sweet- sweeter than expected, but it had been imported. She dismissed the thought as tendrils of incense snaked into the air.

Maybe it was the aroma, or maybe it was the one who donated said gift, but she felt corners of her lips curl. The memory makes her heart dance, her cheeks glow and the layers she wears suddenly seem too much.

As if to answer her prayers, a whistling draft invades her chambers through a crack in the door, raising bumps on her skin.

"When did I…" she murmurs to no one in particular, getting up.

Half way across the room she feels it. The acute sway and swirl. She swears her gait is fine, but the world- it moves to an extent that is more than enough tip her balance. A small gasp escapes her lips, and although her arms reflexively brace themselves it does nothing to assuage the impact of her cheek onto the tatami mat. The floors, the door- they swirl still but her orientation resets as she pushes off the ground.

Another frustrated groan. "I must be tired," she whispers to herself, sliding the door to a close and retreating to bed.

"Good morning, Mitsunari-dono," a retinue of female servants chirp, as they part ways for him to pass.

The General of the Ishida Army barely nodded as he stalked by more preoccupied on the war council he was about to convene pertaining to arquebus trade than petty servant mannerisms. It barely registers that it usually isn't this pitchy brood that he'd see, rather a certain stubborn peasant who would first cross his path early in the day.

A scowl. A silent scolding. Irrelevant detail.

One less annoying peasant to-

"Somebody, help!" Shattering tranquil dawn. A voice that sounded frighteningly familiar. A voice he's known since his childhood.

Trespassers? Bandits? Shinobi?

A smirk evanesces on to his ghastly features. Someone was in a hurry to die if they think to trespass. He cuts a corner. If there is a fool seeking swift execution, he would gladly oblige.

What greets him is neither a group of bandits nor enemy combatants. Nay, not even men, because Mitsunari soon finds his prior scowl unwarranted and previous thoughts rescinded.

"Sakichi, come quick!" Tschiyo's voice taut with panic.

She laid motionless, in a sprawl of lavender silk on the icy wooden planks; hair undone by the collision.

"I found her this way," her voice quivering, as she draws the healer on to her lap, "there is a pulse, but there's not telling how long she's been like this."

Perhaps, it's the fright in the older woman's voice, or, it's his military training, but his body moves as it would on the battlefield. In the blink of an eye, he is besides Tschiyo, inciting a gasp from his caretaker, and in one fell swoop gathers the syncopized woman into his arms.

"Come," he beckons, leading the way into her chambers- his pace chaotic underneath a calm surface.

Mitsunari comes close to smashing the doors open, but fortunately Tschiyo anticipates and rushes ahead.

She lived simply in a minimally furnished room. Save the desk stacked with medications, manuscripts and a vanity with multiple drawers, there was nothing.

"Place her here, Sakichi," Tschiyo smoothing out the futon she had pulled from the closet. He complies while she digs through the vanity, returning with a ceramic bottle.

Bottle uncorked, its contents are applied to the back of Tschiyo's hand.

"Have her sit upright," and he does as he's told while she places her hand within a breath of Ran's nostrils.

Truth be told he didn't think it was effective, whatever IT was, but when the peasant's countenance wrinkled before the pungent concoction of herbs, he thought otherwise.

Her eyes crack open, just a bit. The world as blurry as a newborn's.

"Ran-dono, you're awake! Thank goodness!"

The healer manages something along the lines of a grunt, attempting to relieve Mitsunari's burden of being her headrest.

"Please don't strain yourself, Ran-dono. You just woke up. We found you unconscious in the hall- I'll fetch some water. Sakichi will stay with you," she replies, meeting the General's eyes with a look he had not seen in years before hurrying outside.

Ran waits until the footsteps fade. "Mitsunari-dono, I am alright" her voice barely a whisper, "please let go of-"

As if on fire, his iron grip snaps off.

She flexes her fingers to evaluate for damage before moving over to her futon. It won't bruise, but it she's in for a few weeks of crampy wrist work. "Thank you," raising her head but only to meet the white coat on his back.

A deep draft slices its way inside between a crack in the doors, but it does nothing to assuage her flushed countenance.

"What is that?" He inhales.

"What is what?" Her expression etched like a puzzle.

"That foul odor," he spats, another inhalation and something like a vague memory drifting in the air. Mitsunari rises from his crouch, circling her chamber until he halts before a ceramic container with ashes on her desk.

"That is the incense Mitsunari-dono gave-"

Without another word, the doors swing wide open as he hurls the container far into the open garden. A moment of silence before the pitch of shards shatter the still wintry air.

Her eyes grow wide- wet. Ran readies her protest but the blast of cold, fresh air influxes into her chambers. Her olfactory sense, lulled by the persuasion of sweet lavender now catches on to a bitterness of more insidious intent.

This bitter smell, so distinct. Few have ever lived to recant the tale.

"This is…" she breathes, stumbling backwards into her futon, "there's no mistake..."

"Tch, you call yourself a healer- how careless! Have you considered the results of your negligence?" he snaps, hand crunching over handle of his O-dachi.

Ran winces but recovery comes quick. Eyes no longer moist. "I-I have the antidote," she reaches over to her vanity, uncovering a parcel as footsteps echo down the hall. "It has only been a few short days."

A pattering of footsteps.

"Ran-dono, please you must stay in bed!" The older woman places the tray down before drawing the covers over her charge.

"I shall be fine, Tschiyo-san. There seemed to be foul play in the incense, but Mitsunari helped me dispose of it. I have the antidote," she turns to the Ishida General, "there is no need for worry."

He shoots her an incredulous glare.

Worry? As if!

"Che." He scoffs, turning to leave the two.

The corridors shudder as he stomps back to his chambers. The slam of sliding doors.

Worried? He sneers. He had been anything but! Hand crunching at the mere thought of her carelessness.

He kneels down with weapon by his side, mind spewing volcanic anger. Had she considered the grave effects of her thoughtlessness? The tragic end? NO. Complacent fool! She could have died!

He glares at the plant before him that she defied his orders to take back.

…Careless…

The slender soft edges of its stem and leaves dry with decay.

…Carefree…

It's prized purple, shriveled on the floor.

…Caregiver…

Traitorous hands reach for fallen petals. The image of her pale silhouette outlined by ebony strands tracing on to wooden floors. A hand with fingers frozen into a semi-curl. There is no draft, but a wave of cold still washes over, freezing his nerves of steel. A sharp inhale before he regains his bearings.

Peripherally, Tschiyo shuffles by, a billowing, black cloud. Maybe it's the eerie dance of dead petals along the floor, or maybe out of pure curiosity but he brusquely stalks over.

"Where are you going?" In the blink of an eye, he stands before the older woman in the hall.

"Sakichi," she gasps, dropping her bamboo hat and grasping the knot of her cloak. "No where particular, just the village."

He replies with a silent side-step that mirrored hers. A quirked eyebrow.

In this weather, when a mere gust was a knife to the face?

A defeated sigh for the boy she raised who could see through all deceit. "I am going to visit Iroha Sensei."

His arm against sliding doors prevents her passage. "You are to remain here."

"Sakichi, I must go see Iroha-sensei for Ran-dono's –"

"Stay here." His voice taut with finality as he stomps over to a certain peasant's room. He hears a pattering distantly, but whether it's from Tschiyo's retreating footsteps or the hammering within his chest, he could not tell.

Mitsunari finds her at the desk, weighing medication with a small scale.

"Mitsunari-dono," the layout immediately covered with her sleeve, "I- I will be alright, please do not worry."

No one worries over a peasant- especially one capable of falsehood!

"Tschiyo was on her way to see that old fool. Explain yourself," he demanded, eyes as sharp as steel.

"I see…" Ran uncovered her sleeve. "I did not want you to know…but the amount of antidote I require is more than I have," she sighed, gaze downcast in a cross of shame and frustration that he did not understand. A frosty breeze drifts between the door frame behind him, caressing tendrils across her pallid features. A face robbed of its natural blush. A complexion he deemed undeserving of a countenance frequented by childish smiles and bright eyes. Not that he would know.

His hands swap weapon possession. "I will go." The conviction of a thousand men. "Tschiyo stays. You stay." He turns for the corridor.

The look of horror as she scrambles over, clutching on to his overcoat. "Matte! Mitsunari-dono, you must not. Your men need you! The next campaign is close at hand-"

"That is none of your concern," Mitsunari barks. He didn't have to look. He could feel the sunken eyes of worry etched on alabaster skin. The gravity of her stung features crushing against his back.

Mindless peasant!

The next campaign can wait!

Insurgents can wait!

Illegal trade can wait!

His hands crunch around the o-dachi, and a gnawing feeling he could not describe churns deep inside.

She can not…

"The last scout has yet to arrive," his voice decibels lower, avoiding her eyes should he find more than worry. "I shall return in 2 days time. You have my word."

He is half way out the door when she speaks.

"Then, please take this. It will help you." Hands reaching into folds of her kimono to extract the purple omamori. "Iroha sensei has many visitors, with this, he will know who I am and why you seek him…I will pray for your safe return."

Mitsunari spares a glance at the item in her palm, oblivious to her bidding for a swift and safe journey.

"Ah," he acknowledges, more for the item than in response to her blessing, before pocketing it into the recesses of his overcoat and entering the brisk cold.

Moments later, the Ishida General is west-bound on his steed, plowing through white frost. He mutters how the old fool better not stall time with his aimless prattle upon arrival.

He did not have the patience.

She did not have the time.


	13. Benevolence

Back! It's been almost a year since I started this story and never did I imagine so many people would be reading! Thank you for all your support ^_^

I haven't replied to any of my viewers officially so here goes:

Thank you everyone for the birthday wishes! You are too kind! =D

**Kitsunefire**: i'm unsure if permits the use of urls in reviews but I could not access the video you mentioned. But thanks for thinking of my story nonetheless!

**Ria L:** No... I had no idea the polls worked only for those logged in. Explains the empty polls- I'll think of another way.

**coffeetea07**: right on the money, though I can't say if it is his fan girl who committed the crime. LOL, they are NOT dating and she is a peasant- FOREVER.

**No one important: **you are so important and thanks for the review. Glad you like the chapter- I was all smiles when I wrote it.

**Cloud09: **You have no idea how honored I am to have you say that. Unfortunately, the most I can describe of Ran'scharacter is the ebony hair, fair complexion, serene features. A lot of people want to know exactly what, how or who she looks like- but the truth is, I don't even know.

I've never known, even when I created Ran :)

She is more personality than a physique in my imagination. She exists differently in everyone's mind. When you read, her physical existence is what YOU imagine, not what I imagine. I believe in that freedom and creativity. Ran maybe the most breath-taking or ugliest creature to walk to the earth to the reader. However, the PERSON she is remains the same- which explains why she's with such a horrible, atrocious, ill-mannered man LOL! The most important opinion of course, is not mine, yours or any reader's...it's Mitsunari's xD I did my best, hope it helps! Keep me updated- thanks!

* * *

_Four days- the time it took to write it. Two days- time spent editing/revising. One week- time expended on punting and overcoming writer's block._

_This is the heaviest, most important chapter you will read in this story. Pay attention- enjoy the show! _

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**Ch 13: Benevolence **

The Iroha estate was cloaked in white when Mitsunari arrived after a day's ride from the Tokugawa bukeyashiki. Nestled in the bamboo forests of the Western lands, one could easily miss it if he did not know the way. Not Mitsunari.

Although he did not like the senior healer, he and a retinue of guards had personally escorted the elderly man back to his ancestral home. The old man's squabbling, Mitsunari never may forgive, but years of unquestioned servitude to the Toyotomi empire, the Ishida General would never forget.

It wasn't much of an estate- a derelict home frayed by time with a wild garden cleared in the middle of a forest. Perhaps come spring the building would be an idyllic summer home, but winter's ravage currently made the humble abode lose all habitational appeal.

Mitsunari dismounted, trekking across the field – the whooping of cranes echoing audibly in the foreground.

The stairs are paces away when a squadron of armored men files down from the halls to greet him by the stairs.

"Identify yourself! State your business here!" One of them demands, readying his sword. His entourage immediately follows suit.

The militaristic greeting of course. He had known no other. However…

He quirks an eyebrow. Since when had the old fool gone about erecting guards? The old man lived in the middle of nowhere and made no enemies from what Mitsunari could recall. Yet, from the armor and stance of these men they were no mere foot soldiers or mercenary for hire.

He glares at the older man, "my business is not with you. Be gone!"

"Such impudence," the soldier growls, slashing at him on a lunge.

An instant turn on his heels and slam from the butt of his sword knocked the soldier out cold.

"Che." A trained samurai. No where near his caliber- but from the speed and technique of the swing, a veteran regardless.

Countless vulgarities erupt, falling to deaf ears as Mitsunari felt the omamori move within the folds of his clothes. A physical reminder that sets his heart racing.

The rest of them lunge at him, spewing expletives, but the hammering in chest tells him time is fleeting. He curses under his breath, parrying futile blows.

Annoying rats. He changes his stance, left foot forward, balance shifted for bursts of speed.

"General of the Ishida Army," his words like the darkest of venom, o-dachi poised, "who dares bar my way?"

Mitsunair bounded up the stairs. He did not have to search long, for the next corner he took led him to the elderly healer.

"M-Mitsunari-sama," his voice cracks, the wooden bucket in his arms almost escaping his grip, more shocked by General's presence than the pile of bodies in the background, "this is unexpected. To what do I owe the honor?"

"Antidote for your foolish disciple," Mitsunari presents the purple charm.

Iroha considers the item.

"Ran desu ka?" he murmurs, considering the item but leaving it on the younger man's outstretched hand.

"Ah."

He gives the warrior a firm glance before shuffling by him. "I am afraid I cannot comply."

The number of people who can blatantly dismiss and disregard the Minister of Misfortune, were few. Even fewer can walk away unscathed with head intact. Iroha was the select few capable of both.

Mitsunari stomps after him indoors.

"She is your disciple!" O-dachi pointed at the old man's back.

The aged healer turns around. Eyes weathered by time and trials held the younger man's steel gaze. They were not soft unlike a certain peasant's, but Mitsunari doubts they were as sharp and fierce as his own grey ones. Still, the old man held his ground.

"She is no longer my responsibility," came his unflinching reply with eyes that although were firm lacked malice, " I have others who are in need of my care now."

The whippersnapper gave him a sour look. If the older man had not been so rushed and preoccupied, he would have smirked. Maybe a snide remark too. He had a gamut of them for the young, petulant General.

Mitsunari gripped his O-dachi tighter. Somewhere in the distance, a crane calls out to its other half.

Iroha continues his shuffle deeper into the chamber despite the tacit threat.

Death? Such a thing he cared little for. In his youth, while soldiers fought living, breathing forms of themselves, he battled an unearthly foe that threatened to whisk away young men such as the one who stood before him now. He had spent much of his youth attempting to best his spectral opponent but finally reconciling with it as a means of salvation.

From pain.

From longing.

From weariness.

Because despite years of witnessing the light fade from young eyes, he realized there were things far more important and transcendental than death. Eighty he will be when the sakura trees bloom, and by then perhaps he will greet death no longer a rival, but a friend.

So even when the Ishida general threatens him with a swift execution - Iroha could think of nothing but his current responsibility.

A sudden slam of the doors followed by scuttling feet. "Leave Iroha-Sensei alone!"

Instinct draws Mitsunari a step back as he casts a glare at the tiny, blue-clad interloper who scrabbles his way between the two men.

A child?

"Aiko-chan, what are you doing here?" The healer, yanking him by the collar away from the O-dachi's field of range.

"Ji-chan, he's being unreasonable," the boy protests, attempting to claw at the Ishida General.

Unreasonable?

This pipsqueak of a weakling dare call him unreasonable? He could feel his blood boiling.

"Yes, that he maybe, Aiko-chan, but-"

"Iroha-sensei?" A voice low and whispy echoing past open shoji doors from the darkness in the next room.

Mitsunari spares a glance at the speaker.

A woman.

Small and half concealed by the shoji door, kneeling on the ground.

"Okasan!" The boy shrugs off Iroha's hold, sprinting over to shield his mother.

She held the boy's hand and led him to the side. This woman's eyes were soft, much to his dismay. She raised her head. Serene expression mounted on top a fair countenance. The vision of lavender silk on cold, hard floors flashes before his eyes.

"Brave samurai, please forgive my child's rudeness," the woman inclined her head, tendrils of ebony trailing on the tatami. He had known only one other with hair darker than starless nights. How vexatious to be reminded.

Outside the wind howls against panels of screen doors, cranes gone silent.

He looked away. "Ii darou," he grunted. "My business here concerns neither of you."

As if on cue, the old fool begins his babbling of 'priorities'.

It bothers him a woman he neither met nor cared to know of could read him so well, for a moment into the old man's mindless chatter, she intervenes.

Thin, elegant fingers pry shoji doors wide open, revealing her gravid frame to the wide-eyed Ishida general. He knew nothing of woman and their monthly 'maladies', but even he had little doubt the purpose of this woman's visit.

"I was told Iroha-sensei would be best-suited to-"

"Silence." He held up one hand.

The cranes fell hush for a while now. Their cacophony a mere memory.

Mitsunari wheels about-face towards the empty pavilion leading into layers of woods.

The wind abates with deafening silence.

A frown spays on his expression as he treks outside. The few men who survived the brawl earlier were smart enough to vacate. With deliberate steps he descends the stairs, eyes trekking the perimeter while Iroha ambles behind him in speculation.

Snow crunches beneath his feet as he meets the ground.

"Show yourselves!" His roar, shattering the crisp winter air. The winter fowl remain hushed.

The aged healer looks on, puzzlement pushing him to speak. At first he suspects his impaired vision, but when the snow starts shifting and trees clearly begin bending, he thinks otherwise.

There, thirty paces away, figures coalesce together from the wintry scene. They form a loose formation, parting in the center for a central figure- their leader, the old man surmises, who saunters from the cloak of woods to join them. His garb a stark contrast to the pristine snow. His gait mirroring the Ishida general's- inevitably slow and solemnly deliberate.

"This does not concern you," the shinobi's voice rang out, dark and smooth. "I am here for the woman and her child. You and the healer are free to go. Leave now."

"Free to go? That is not yours to say," Mitsunari snaps, knuckles white around his weapon. First the old fool's pathetic guards, then the brat and his irritating mother and now this. Did the entirety of mankind strive to oppose him?

A moment's hesitation as the shinobi's eyes trailed the Ishida general's garb and weapon. Searching..seeking, but alas not finding.

"Hn, very well," he sighs, retreating back towards his squadron, "so be it."

From the soft patter of footsteps, Mitsunari knew the old man was no moron. He had already made himself scarce. But there was another pair of footsteps, small, light and bounding towards him.

"Haha-ue wo mamoritai," comes his firm reply to Mitsunari's expectant split glance. The pipsqueak stood with balled fists besides the General's towering frame.

What in the seven hells….

Mitsunari's free hand wheels the pipsqueak by the collar behind him, but tiny fists pound against his armguards.

"Are you mad? Go inside!" He barked, glaring daggers at the boy.

Young, brown eyes of reckless valiancy meet his sharp, steel orbs. Strange that they should remind him of her, but they did. "No! I am staying to protect-"

"This is no place for a child!" he snarls bitterness and fury that would send the bravest of veteran cowering. The child winces at the sting of his words, and Mitsunari looks away. He could see the frown on a certain peasant's face and he loathed himself for it.

Clearing his throat, he releases the boy's collar. "Inside. Protect your mother inside," dropping the volume of his voice, "she requires your presence."

"But, Samurai-ni-san-"

Across the field his opponent stops, back facing Mitsunari. His hand rising to signal…

"Go now!" his bark returning as he slips into a defensive stance he had not used since days of his retainer initiation. A squeak erupts before pattering footsteps retreat indoors.

Not a moment sooner, a nonchalant flick of the shinobi's wrist sends a flurry of white barreling towards the Ishida General.

To the untrained eye, it's a cloud of white fury ripping through the tranquil fields, but Mitsunari missed neither of the 4 sprinting shinobi. They moved fast- a squadron trained from early youth to collectively dispatch the most dangerous of enemies. For years they've been in such service to their Lord- Mitsunari could feel it through their strength and technique. The lack of hesitation with every blow, the deadly intent of every swing. The speed and agility to exchange 2 sets of blows before clouds of snow in their wake can return to the ground. Whichever Lord sent for these ninjas, was out for blood and the unfortunate soul foolish enough to intervene- a pesky afterthought.

But the Minister of Misfortune did not have time to play. Not today.

"Come," he beckons with his weapon, as they pause for breath. He pivots his right foot backward and pulls himself into a slant- ready to cut through the air. One of them hurls two kunai his way. The first is a decoy that misses, arcing past Mitsunari's arm, and the second, likely laced with a paralytic agent, is deftly deflected with spin of his o-dachi. In the blink of an eye, both fall with a hallow clink onto the ground. The minister of misfortune had yet to move from his stance.

Hn. Unlikely the same pathetic trick would work again. He'd hate to have another evaluation by the peasant for the same ailment. But it irritated him to fight enemies that were weak, dependent on the aid of poison, smoke and illusions. The strong would never fight as such- Lord Hideyoshi would never hide or deceive or debilitate his foes with useless ploys.

"How unsightly your cowardice ways," Mitsunari spats.

Lord Hideyoshi never sought to undermine the opposition- he crushed them!

The four readied their weapons to strike.

He sprawls into a wider version of his current stance, weapon raised by his hip. "Consider this your undoing. There shall be no mercy for your weakness!"

No sooner the words leaves his mouth, do the four shinobi see the world spiral out of control- the purple flash but a fleeting memory. A moment it takes them to register that the swirling is limited to their perception. An eternity it takes for them to realize the body they see from a distal angle is not Mitsunari's, but their own. And despite all attempts of the body to register pain, there is none. The vision of crimson spewing on virgin snow lost to a swift repose.

He barely had time to snap away the blood on his sword before it collided with another weapon.

"You will pay for your sins," the platoon leader hisses behind his mask, ramming his kunai against Mitsunari's weapon. The Ishida general inches away from the other man's cloaked expression. So close the odor of lavender was unmistakable.

Sins? Mitsunari scoffed. He will lay all of them to waste.

"Show me your hatred."

He pushed back, vying for power over the other. A game played since his youth.

"My Lord was to have your life. Who would have known you to outlive both my attempts," the shinobi slurred, voice dark and deep like the most dangerous of poisons, "Mitsunari Ishida."

Lavender…

Mitsunari parried with practiced ease and his opponent seized the opportunity to create distance.

"You!"

He had no chance to recover before the assault began again. Fast and furious, the quiet pavilion became an instant winter storm. The naked eye sees but flashes of silver, hears the resonance of metal on metal as an afterthought. But the trained warrior sees two combatants of similar caliber, matching blow for blow.

One final clash before the onset of silence. The transient flurry precipitating onto the ground, clearing before the two soldiers, poised to attack at a moment's notice.

Thin fingers reach for the mask, prying it off - a cascade of crimson tendril snaking down her frame.

A laugh so deep and rich it makes the most callous veterans shiver. " General Ishida, I am pleasantly surprised you did not recognize me after the second attempt at your life."

"It is you," Mitsunari confirms, "the raid...the temple."

The brief shock on his face, whisked immediately away by years of stoicism. Visions of withering purple on stems and tendrils of ebony against cold hard floors - all caused by this wench. The handle of his o-dachi crunching against his grip; he had never known it was possible to hold his weapon as tightly as he did now.

Her lips thin to a line. Yet he lived, much to her chagrin. He survived where others have succumbed to sweet paralysis and subtle delirium. Twice. Why? How?

"Who is your Lord?" He demanded, o-dachi pointed her way, "speak now!"

She twirled a lock of bright, red hair against her lithe figure. "You are not one to make demands, General. My Lord desires your death- that is all you need to know."

Before he could threaten her with imminent death, a cry reaches his ears. A series of nascent wails shattering the deathly winter.

The shinobi mutters a curse, and her sour expression turns livid with the onset of horse hooves in the distance.

"Mitsunari Ishida, make no mistake, I shall have you pay for your sins, " she repeats to him, her voice grave, eyes sharp with malice "…in blood."

The horses draw close, voices of men audible. She motions a quick seal conjuring another flurry of white cold that envelops her figure. It swallows her whole, dispersing in the blink of an eye into thin air.

A sharp flick of his wrist cleans the blood of his sword. Not her blood today, but some day.

The crunching of snow as footsteps surround the aged abode. More interlopers? He had no time to waste. Mitsunari turns his attention back to the task at hand, sprinting up the stairs.

He enters the chamber with the healer, his patient and her children inside. "I require the antidote," he demands, not batting an eye at the woman cradling the newborn besides the boy, while producing the omamori from folds of his clothing again.

The elderly man finishes washing his hand. He gives Mitsunari a hard look before getting up from the tatatmi mat to take the charm.

"I trained her since she was but a child," he began, shuffling towards a large chest against the walls, "she learned well. Mastered antidotes for many poisons in the manuals."

He held out a small, lacquered container to him. "But Ran refused to learn this one," he chuckled, albeit bitterly, "on the grounds that she would never encounter such a poison because of its foreign origin, outside of Japan. Rare she said! Such hubris, that young lady!"

Iroha stroked the omamori's purple silk. "She never parts with this, a memento of her mother," he returned it to Mitsunari's hand, closing it with his own. "How ironic she has both relinquished a prized possession and succumbed to a poison she thwarted my attempts to teach her in the past."

He sighed before returning his weathered eyes to the younger man's gunmetal grey ones.

"But I suppose if it is you, she will live," he gives him a rare smile that few have seen. "General Mitsunari."

_I shall pray for your safe return._

Had she not told him? He'll never deign to admit such recollection, but for some reason the fragment of nostalgia lingered subconsciously.

"Ah, I gave her my word," was all he could say.

_I shall return in two days time._

It would take him at least one more day to return, provided he left now and did not encounter further obstacles along the way. His heart raced at the thought.

Mitsunari turns to leave when the woman calls out.

Voice soft and polite. "General, please, may I have a word?"

He stops, looking over his shoulder. The shuffling of her robes as she hands the slumbering infant over to the healer, before smoothing out her attire.

"Iroha-sensei has told me the purpose of your visit- that you are here to save the life of a woman you know."

"…"

She was not wrong.

Taking her cue to continue. "This lady must be important to you. Despite the urgency of her health, you still fended off assailants after me and my sons. Your valiancy have allowed me to bring my child into this world and as such, I shall grant you the truth."

A gurgle from the small bundle.

She raised her head and sat as she had been taught to do so for a woman of her heritage. "My husband feared for my safety, so I was sent here with my son to have our child in seclusion. Guards where kept to a minimum as you saw. No one was to know."

He was so bent on telling her that someone under her husband's service was guilty of treason that he had neglected to revoke her initial presumptive remark.

"A subordinate of your husband knew," he said with grave solemnity, turning to face her, "those shinobi today were trained for targeted assassinations. They knew there would be guards."

She considered this for a moment before meeting his eyes. Her face still flushed from the throes of childbirth. Hair slightly tussled, falling like a dark river against her inner, white kimono- an image not to far from one he'd witnessed a day prior.

"I see. Nonetheless, I thank you for your kindness. It is rare in this day and age to encounter a noble samurai such as yourself. My husband believes it is through compassion that bonds will be created to unite this country. Our dream is that one day this may come to fruition and we shall see an end to this tumultuous Sengoku jidai," she brings her hands before her, prostrating before him. Her son following suit.

"We are indebted to your benevolence, General."

His eyes meet hers- deep and worldly but regrettably too soft for an era obsessed with subjugation and treachery. He had thought only one person to have such eyes.

"…she would have done no different," he mutters, throwing his gaze outdoors.

Clearing his throat, he turns away, warmth of the sun waning into the horizon.

"General Mitsunari, please wait," and whether it be the urgency of her voice or the scrabbling of her footsteps, but he stops cold in his tracks.

"Please take this general," she holds it to him, "a gift for your most generous and kind lady."

He stared at her hands, small and delicate bestowing him the lacquered object embellished with ribbons and intricacies he care little for.

Mitsunari thanks her gruffly before stowing it in the folds of his overcoat. As he exits the compound, echoes of her voice resonate across the snowy fields- wispy tendrils of her words following, reaching him like memories from a second life.

"_My name is Princess Ue. Your act of benevolence I shall one day return."_


End file.
